Memories and Mercies

The zero stared me in the face. My heart sped up a couple beats and I felt like I had just lost a prized possession that would never be returned to me. Quickly, I tapped out a text to my people who had been in the house that morning. 

“Nooooo! What happened to all the messages on the answering machine?!”

The ‘zero’ told me they were no longer there, but why? What happened? Did we lose power? A quick 2-second memory recall told me we no longer have the kind of machines that record messages on mini cassette tapes, possibly preserving these messages. Yet, I was still hoping for an explanation that would tell me I’d be able to hear these special messages again. 

The text came back: “Yeah…I deleted them not knowing you were saving them. Sorry.” 

Deleted? Like, as in… 

DELETED?

Like as in…

ALL of them?

I tried not to put blame on someone who had already said sorry. Sorry is sorry. Yet, I wonder if my next two texts unintentionally rubbed it in a bit more. All I wanted to do was explain why I cared. Why did it matter that our answering machine once had 14 messages on it, and now none? Why did I feel tears welling up in my eyes? 

“Just my Input strength shining through…”

“Collector of information…”

“Meaningful messages…”

“Birthday messages…messages from kids…”

“Learned it from Grandma…”

Another text: “Yeah I know. I’m sorry.” There it was again. Another sorry. 

What could I say? I was still reeling from lost messages, lost voices. But I remembered something a mentor once told me. “They might not remember the circumstance, but they will remember how you made them feel.”

And I knew I needed to let it go. In that moment, I needed to care more about the person in my present than the messages of the past. 

“It’s ok. You didn’t know. I have to learn to let go of some things and collect new messages I guess.”

Letting go of the past. Why is that so difficult for some of us? I can surely let go of the things I don’t want to remember. But the good times, the times that made us laugh, the beautiful memories, the sentimental answering machine messages – those are hard to let go. Letting go of these messages means I might forget the memory, I might forget the kind words that were said. I might need to hear the words of love from my best friend, our parents, a sister-in-law, my husband or my kids and won’t have the opportunity to just push ‘play’ and hear them talk to me. Or worse. Something might happen to that person and I won’t hear their voice again. 

And there it is, I realize. There’s the real reason. 

Sometimes I wish I could go back. Go back and record, “I love you, honey!” “You’re doing so well! Keep up the good work!” Or the way he sang “Happy Birthday” to me. Or even just him telling me where he thought the Brewers were headed for the season. I know he said those things because I have them in handwritten letters (and that is something that people don’t have much of today, so I can be thankful for that!) But 33 years is a long time and there is no possible way I can remember his voice. An answering machine or voicemail sure would have been nice back then! 

Recently, I tried calling a friend and when the call went to voicemail, I heard, “The voicemail box is full…”   I was unable to leave a message. This was not the first time this had happened, so I finally asked her about it the next time I saw her. “It’s full because most of the messages are from my grammy and grampa and I just can’t get rid of them.” I understand, dear friend, I definitely understand, more than you realize.

My family knows that if I can’t always see it, I don’t always remember it. That’s why I still use the kind of calendars they made in the 20th century, you know, the kind made from trees that require the use of a pen. I have pictures of family and friends hung on our walls and on the refrigerator, just like you likely do. I have pictures on the doorways strung with wire-ribbon, in my purse and in dozens of scrapbooks. Like the pictures around our home, the saved messages remind me that our lives are filled with beautiful people. But I don’t really need old answering machine messages to remind me of that, do I? 

This isn’t the only time that I’ve been met with the realization of my tendency to hold on to the people in my life a little too tightly. Maybe it comes from a lifetime of losses or being raised an only child, either way, I’ve learned to recognize it. I’ve also learned that when this happens, it’s Satan’s sneaky way of getting me to put my favorite people in first place. Before God.  

But first place belongs to only God, my friends. He’s the only one that deserves my whole heart. He’s the only one that deserves your whole heart. 

Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. – Deuteronomy 6:5

When we hang on too tightly to people, possessions or pastimes, aren’t we really kicking God off the podium? Idols don’t need to be just a statue we bow down to, like I pictured in my mind as a child. Idols are anything that we allow to draw us away from God and take our eyes off the real prize.  

We should fear, love and trust in God above all things.
-Martin Luther

Now you might be thinking… but wait, this started with answering machine messages. Yes, because I realized that I was allowing my love for the people and memories to sneak into first place. I can only love them best when I love God most. 

It’s a good thing God’s mercies are new every morning. He brings a new day, ready to fill with new memories and the people I love most. Even if memories fade and people I love leave me, God is still there, guiding me with his love. 

And the answering machine…

It still shows zero. And I’m ok with that. But when the next birthday message or “hello, mom, could you please…. And also… I love you” comes, I’ll be leaving it on there, at least for a little while.