Carved on our Hearts

We have all experienced the pain of losing someone we hold dear—our choices about how and what we remember become significant in these moments. The power of our memory serves as a bridge, allowing us to delve deeper into our understanding of those we’ve lost, even in their absence. As believers, we hold onto the faith and expectation that we will one day reunite with them. I often liken these acts of remembrance to carve their presence into the very core of my heart.

Henri Nouwen expresses this in his book, Discernment when he writes:
“I can even say that I must remember those in the past to make full reunion possible in the future. Their memory is, in a certain sense, preparation for seeing them again. Remembering them is not just some sentimental, pious custom of those who can’t move on; it is the continuation of a relationship that still exists and has yet to come to fulfillment.”

On September 25th, I hold my son Raphe in my heart. You can read about Raphe’s story here and learn about the enduring promise of our Hawaiian community to remember him in this post. Remarkably, I once again received a heartwarming note and photo from our Hawaiian community this past week, affirming their remembrance of Raphe.

On September 26th, I cherish the memory of my mother, Maxine. I’ve shared my admiration for her independent spirit here.

These two anniversaries prompt me to reflect on how we choose to remember those we’ve lost. As I ponder how I want to honor the memories of my mother and connect them to my children, two classic Max activities come to mind: grocery shopping and bowling.

My mother, who grew up during the Great Depression and supported her family from a young age, had a deep affinity for workers. Raising a large family, she frequented our military commissary and formed meaningful connections with the baggers. These commissary baggers, independent workers who relied on tips, held a special place in her heart. In fact, my mother extended an open invitation to an entire table of commissary baggers to attend my wedding reception. To honor and commemorate my mother’s unique relationship with these hardworking individuals, my daughters, who also work as grocery baggers at the same commissary, handed out bonus tips to every bagger during their shifts this past week.

While my mother’s athleticism is mainly preserved in old photographs, her exceptional bowling skills remain a cherished memory. She was a dedicated bowling league member, and most of her bowling endeavors occurred while we were in school. She had her ball and bag, and end-of-year silver holloware awards for her high-scoring feats filled our china cabinet. Sunday afternoons during my upbringing often revolved around watching the Professional Bowling Association on television, and names like Earl Anthony, Pete Weber, and the Firestone Classic became familiar to us. Celebrating Maxine through an activity she enjoyed became our way of honoring her memory and celebrating being together in that remembrance.

Remembering our loved ones has been a source of healing and a means of keeping these relationships alive, recognizing the eternal nature of their existence, and holding onto the hope and assurance of our reunion in Christ.