The other night, dinner in our bellies and the dishes cleared, we were listening to this album and dancing. The next day, I was smiling over that memory, and I thought,
"I hope she remembers the dancing."
Someday, when she is older, I hope she remembers her mama scooping her up and twirling around with her, covering her with kisses as the notes fell all around us.
What will she remember? I am overwhelmed by the thought of it. This holy and high gift has been given to me - I am her mama. We will walk these days together, and she will carry these memories even unto to her old age.
I hope she remembers laughter. Shrieks and chortles, giggles and chuckles, and most of all, those belly laughs that always strike at the most inopportune times.
I hope she remembers her mama and daddy loved each other. I hope she remembers us kissing and hugging and and giving grace. I hope she remembers we were in love and we chose love.
I hope she remembers books. Books read together on the couch, and books read alone, curled up in a special spot.
I hope she remembers walks. Walks on dusky summer nights, her hands stretched up to ours. Walks to the store and walks to the donut shop, because who says we always have to drive?
I hope she remembers the Word spoken. I hope she remembers the beautiful Truth spoken again and again until it hangs in her heart to stay.
I hope she remembers my attention. That when she tugged on my leg, I knelt to look her in the eye. That when she begged me to play, I sat on the floor and dressed paper dolls.
I hope she remembers love. If nothing else, this. I hope she will remember how much we delighted in her, how nothing she ever did caused us to love her one bit more or less, how from her first breath she was set in our hearts like stone.
A legacy begins. My breath catches at the thought of it, the empty slate ahead and how desperately I want to fill it well. So come, Lord Jesus. Come into these memories and breathe Your life.