You know what's interesting to me? That I can flip through post after post, years of babbling and writing, and not recognize a single one of them? Sure, there are some favorites, a few highlights of the past but, for the most part, I don't recall writing most of the archived blogs I've got.
I was searching for a specific post that I swore I wrote right around Christmas last year, to make my current homework assignment a bit easier. (I'm pretty sure I wrote something about one of my favorite Psalms and that just happens to be the next paper I have to write. Why make this assignment harder than it has to be, really?)
No luck. But I did get a chance to read over a few pieces of artwork through the months of December. And, let me say, oofta. Those were some hard days for us. But, basically, it was as though I was reading them for the first time. Strange as it may seem, I remember the struggle, but I don't remember the individual battles in between.
Any given day, I am sharing 5 lanes of interstate with a few hundred other cars. It always amazes me that those little, white lines with zero power have the ability to keep us all confined in one lane without crashing into our neighbors. It's only when we're at a complete stop that I take the time to notice those little white lines, too. For the most part, I'm full speed ahead watching for the white lines half a mile in front of me. I especially never pay attention to the white lines behind me.
And isn't it just like that? Here I am, on the other side of what I consider one of the toughest storms of my life, and while I do remember it, I don't remember each passing day. I don't remember that one Tuesday before counseling or a certain weekend. I remember the big picture and I certainly see the change it has made in me, but I do not remember every small detail, each white line.
I think if our memory served us that well, we may never have the ability to face a new storm. My mom has this theory that our minds are giant icebergs. Any given day, there are hundreds of penguins on the iceberg but, eventually, a few have to jump off in order to make room for a new penguin. I just think if we remembered every detail of the good and of the bad, our icebergs would be overpopulated and there would never be any room for new, baby penguins. It probably wouldn’t be so easy to allow the troublesome penguins onto our iceberg if we remembered how difficult the other ones were; we would probably give up at the slightest sign of struggle.
The point is this. I learned a lot over the past year of my life, yet I hardly recognize some of the lessons I wrote about. It doesn't mean I don't appreciate them, or that I don't take time to really be thankful for them, but it does mean that I continue forward, full speed ahead, fully aware that other troubles will come and life won't always be perfect, but that I have a captain who is unwilling to let me drown. It means that I have a traffic guard constantly painting new white lines, helping me see the way, little by little.