Weekend breakfasts pre-baby used to be an event in our home. Warm sun filtered into our room, we slept in, cooked something special, sat on the balcony when it was warm and had a leisurely brunch. Husband made me mochas complete with frothed milk.
These days the breakfasts are still tasty, but the ambience is gone. Last Saturday we ate this while Small One pounded his fists on the high chair tray every time he wanted a piece of rice cracker. The poached egg on avocado and goats cheese toast was tasty, yes, but the experience wasn’t so leisurely. And let’s be honest, getting out of bed at 7:30am does not count as a sleep in
I walked into our dining room yesterday and the memory of our brunches together hit me hard. To be honest the memory knocked me down with its intensity. I had forgotten how wonderful they were and I had forgotten that we had them almost every single week, even on the weekends when we weren’t happy with each other and didn’t talk to each other during the meal.
I have been thinking about this word, remember. When I saw it in my head the other day, I saw two words “re” and “member,” and it made me wonder if the origin had something to do with the concept of “re” – again, repeated – and “member” – in the sense of the members of our body or things – meaning a piecing together of things in the past. I researched it on an online etymology dictionary and found out I was wrong. But this idea of remember being a re-membering, a return to a place in our past or the past, going back into it and putting pieces together, this idea is turning around in my mind and in my heart this Lenten season.
The price of forgetfulness is high. If I don’t re-member the time warm and wonderful memories I have with Husband, I develop a false perception of our present relationship. If I don’t re-member, if I don’t put back together the pieces of my past with Jesus, I will not see him now, here. And if I don’t re-member his work then, I will most probably struggle to recognize his hand today.