the three of us, hiking towards the refugee camp in Kenya


I regret that I am at a point in life where I do not remember some things well.

Recently, I met people that I thought I was encounering for the first time, only to find out, that it was not, and I should have remembered. I do not like the message this sends to them. Kind of like..."I don't care about you."

When I meet people, I genuinely do enjoy being able to interact with them. Of course there are always those who are unforgettable, but I fear I forget more than I remember.

I used to be good at remembering names. That skill is fading. I have to work really hard to do so, now. Even then, I find I often fail.

Perhaps it is because of my age. Or maybe it is because my intended 3 pounds of grey matter weighs in at less. I really don't know for sure, and could probably be convinced of either.

Some would tell me my years of coffee drinking has stunted my intellectual growth and development. That would probably be true as well.

Whatever the reason, the fact is, I just don't remember names or faces like I used to.

When I was much younger, my grandmother on my mother's side was not around a great deal. She had been a college professor and was very intelligent. She lived in another state.

Still I have many memories of time with her.

I remember watching her peal apples, cut them into small pieces and work at the stove to make applesauce! The aroma wafted through our kitchen...I loved it. It was always better than what came out of a jar.

I remember her staying with us a time or two when my parents went away. Though I am sure there were times they didn't want to, they always returned. She played games with us, and worked to stimulate our intellect. That was easier for some of the four of us than others.

She loved us and that was evident. However, in her latter years, Alzheimers began to set in.

This once brilliant mind, began to fail her. She began to forget faces, places, and where we were in a conversation. In the advanced stages, parts of her that had we had never seen became visible. She could not always process who she was with, and began giving orders to those she really didn't even know, but thought she did. On occasion, she became quite verbally cruel. I knew this was not her, but it still hurt.

It was a difficult thing to behold. I know others have endured similar situations. I saw my mother suffer over this. She often tried to walk us through what was happening to protect our young feelings.

However, intermingled with this memory is one even stronger. One that has always stayed with me. Even when my grandmother could not remember our names or faces, or recognize much about her life, there was one thing she always knew.

Jesus.

I would intentionally ask her questions in which Jesus was the answer, and she always knew that.

That spoke with great amplification into my life.

Somewhere along there, I know I was questioning God's existence. To see her be in a mental state where nothing made sense, and she seemed to know no one, yet she never forgot Jesus, was, well...huge to me!

If a relationship with Christ was a myth, and seeking Him was what weak people did, then there was no way she would be able to process one she had never actually seen over those she had!

She knew Him! He was her Savior. She never forgot the Christ who died for her sin, and set her free!

I may forget many things in my life. I may even offend some by not remembering their names, how I knew them, or what we may have experienced in the past. I will not forget my Jesus!

He is always there, even when I sometimes feel like He isn't. I know He died for me, and He will carry me through whatever may come.

There is a word I am compelled to use here. I do not know it's origin. It is used by Indian people in Asia when they encounter each other, and think the other might be a believer.

The word is Jaymacee.

It means, 'The Messiah is Victorious!'

Some day, if I encounter you on the street, and do not remember you, hopefully, we will see the presence of the Lord in one another, and will call...

Jaymacee!


brent