Life is a series of billions of snapshots, many of which are pictures of you, doing millions of things, even smiling, talking, eating, walking, and many of them are bits of memory matter in the memoires of the people you touch. Just when you are convinced that nobody sees you, that nobody is paying attention, that you are invisible to the world, someone recalls a memory of you that you were unaware you were making.
Today after church, I had the opportunity to greet the pastor who served there many years ago. I remember him fondly. I recall one particular Christmas Eve, when after the service, as we were waiting for something or other, and this pastor had finished saying goodnight to everybody, he walked over to me and gave me a hug. We hadn’t been talking. I hadn’t expressed a need for a hug, but he must have SEEN SADNESS IN MY FACE, AND JUST briefly FOLDED HIS ARMS AROUND ME. That was it. That was my snapshot of a memory of him.
He probably does not remember that moment at all. What he does remember about me is the sound of my first Seeing Eye ® dog, Mindy, as she settled under the pew, and her collar chinked on the tile floor. Not only did he reminisce about that, but he also remembered her name. I was completely unaware of that little tinkling sound that signaled, to everyone but me, that my dog had lain down and had rested her beautiful golden head on the cool tile floor.
What I learned today was that no matter how insignificant you think you are, or, for that matter, how important you think you are, there will be snapshots clicking from any number of memory cameras, When you least expect it. It could be a gesture, an expression, or even an action that has nothing to do with anyone else, that could be recorded and brought out later to remind that person of you.
remember that old show, Candid Camera? And the catch phrase that everybody went around saying, “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera?” Aside from iPhones capturing every little movement, significant or not, there are memory shots that as of today, I vow to try to make ones that I will not be embarrassed about when they become a reminiscence of me. Can I never frown? Never say a harsh word? Never be impatient with someone? No. I can only hope that those memories will be immediately deleted to make room for the ones that will bring a smile, like the image of a guide dog sleeping in church. .