Sunday, February 14, 2010


I forget. It’s what I do.
My heart had been beating a little faster all morning. Somehow I had to cram in dressing the children, showering, drying and hot-rolling my hair (which is quite the long and involved process – just ask my incredible stylist), making heart-shaped chocolate chip pancakes to say “I love you” to my family, decorating the red velvet cupcakes we had made for some friends and preparing my little lady’s Valentine cards for her friends at church all before 10 am. (Yep, should have done some of this the night before…)
As we rushed out the door, I grabbed the cupcakes, the Valentines and shut myself in the car hoping to stuff 20 tattoos into the itty bitty slits (the Valentine card people must hate me) and trying to remember to take the hot-rollers out of my hair BEFORE we walked into church. (Yep, remembered those in the parking lot…) As we walked in, it hit me.
I forgot. But she can’t.
When she wakes up every morning, she can’t forget that this past year she was diagnosed with a disease that now dictates what she can and cannot eat. She can’t forget to take the pills that keep her body from fighting itself. And yet, I do.
And I hate it.
Because she wakes up every morning with this in her face.
She wakes up wondering if her body will cooperate and let her out of bed.
He lives with the fact that his parents are gone.
She negotiates life a continent away from her family.
And her? She keeps waking up to realize she wasn't dreaming, her dad is dead.
But me? I can forget.
It breaks my heart. Because I know what it’s like to be going through that and it feels like that has decided to sit on you and watch you squirm as you try to breathe. And you just long for someone to ache with you, sit with you, hurt with you and hold you. And it feels like no one remembers. They aren’t living with that. They can walk away. You can’t.
And it stings. It hurts. And you feel this lonely ache for someone to be with you. And sometimes you want someone to sit with you and forget that for a moment and enjoy a light-hearted exchange of laughter that declares your faith that God will not leave you even when you can’t utter those words.

So friends, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I so easily forget. I’m sorry that I forget all that you face. I’m glad that I know many of you know Jesus and you know He sits with you and aches with You and laughs with You and will never leave you nor forget your circumstances for a moment. And for those of you reading who don’t – oh how I pray that He’d help me or others in your life show you what that looks like. And that He’d give you the grace to forgive us when we epically fail.
I wish I had a good conclusion. I don’t. That’s it. I’m sorry. And I’m praying God will help me to slow down and remember. You’re worth it.

I'll close with a picture. If you've read my blog, you've already seen it. But it still makes me smile. Every time. So I'll share it with you again. And I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

1 comment:

  1. Amy dear... love you. I admire and cherish your writing, am in awe of your talent and am blessed beyond words by your friendship and how your family loves me. I am not forgotten, nor are you. I love how I see your rawness in what you do, write, live and how you capture life with yor camera. You are wonderful, I mean it. I'm redminded constantly about Gods grace & love bc of how you live. Thanks Amy. You are not forgotten. Lots of love - your bossom pal :)