39: When You’d Rather Forget
Many years ago, I made a quick trip to Target, as one does and as I’ve done countless times since. I don’t remember exactly what the purpose of this particular trip was. I mean, do you really need a reason to go to Target? It was probably to buy something super exciting like trash bags or paper towels - but as you know, one rarely leaves Target with only the item they went in for. On this particular trip, I managed to make my way to the book section, and among other things, left with a brand new mystery novel in hand. Most people know I love to read, but not many people know my favorites are mindless suspense thrillers that keep me guessing until the very last page.
I don’t remember the title of the specific book. But I do remember that the book was not what I expected, and not because of a suspenseful plot twist. I got about halfway through and realized the story seemed off somehow. It took my a few minutes and lots of flipping back and forth, but I soon realized that several pages, right in the middle of the book, were missing.
It wasn’t that someone tore them out. It just seemed that somehow the printer managed to leave out a few pages. Luckily, I was being resourceful and using the receipt as a bookmark, so I eventually made another trip to Target in hopes of exchanging it for a more complete edition. After explaining the situation to the cashier and showing her the gap in pages, she looked at me, chuckled, and said, “The book probably isn’t too good with missing pages. You were probably expecting a better story.”
She was right. In order to appreciate a good story, we need all the pages. Those particular pages might not have contained a major plot point, but they still added value to the story. They contained significant details, and I noticed their absence.
In the context of a story contained in an actual book or novel, all the pages matter. But I’ve also been learning that when it comes to the story of my actual life - at least the story so far - well, there actually are pages I wish were left out, that I wish I could tear out or gloss over.
Each week, you hear me say, “We are called to remember.” I use that phrase a lot around here and that’s because I believe it’s true. But if I’m being honest, each time I say it, there’s a part of me that wonders, what about when I’d rather forget? What if I want to skip over a couple chapters? What if I don’t want to remember or be reminded? What if I don’t want to revisit the loss or shame of a past that is painful or traumatic or doesn’t seem worth remembering? What then?
At the risk of being pretty vulnerable here, there was a time in my life when it felt like I was living an actual nightmare. The truth is, I’ve personally had to wrestle for years with what it looks like to faithfully hold the past when, honestly, I’d rather toss it out. And after listening to many of your stories, I know I’m not alone in that. While our details might be different, we all know to some degree what painful memories feel like.
I don’t know about you, but for me, I find that this struggle usually manifests in one of two ways.
The first is that, in my desire to forget, I often turn a blind eye to the difficult memory or experience, trying to bury it, hide it away, or block it from view. If I ignore it, eventually it will go away, right? But what I’ve discovered is that while this might seem like an obvious solution, it is not actually helpful and does not lend itself to the value of a whole story. Let me try to explain what I mean.
When I worked in youth ministry, one of the responsibilities I often had was none other than driving a twelve passenger van. It might not seem like that big of a deal, but for me, it caused great anxiety - especially when I was taking a group away on a trip of some sort. That scenario meant that I not only had to transport the students, but also their luggage, pillows, sleeping bags, all the necessary things. Inevitably, the back of the van would fill up to the point where I could not see out the rear window and had to deal with a major blindspot. My main rearview mirror served no purpose as I tried to gauge what was going on behind me while navigating Atlanta traffic.
I longed for a fuller picture. A clear view of what was behind me would have been helpful. Not because I was trying to drive in reverse, but because being able to at least acknowledge what was happening behind would have given me a more complete picture, making me a better, more aware driver. In the same way, acknowledging our past in a healthy way equips us to continue faithfully following the way of Jesus.
In his book, The Living Reminder, Henri Nouwen describes how our memories, both good and bad, can help shepherd us in the present and guide us into the future. But in order for that to happen, we must acknowledge our past and let it teach us. Nouwen writes,
“Our first and most spontaneous response to our undesirable memories is to forget them. When something painful has happened we quickly say to ourselves and to each other: ‘Let’s forget it, let’s act as if it did not happen, let’s not talk about it, let’s think about happier things.’ We want to forget the pains of the past—our personal, communal, and national traumas—and live as if they did not really happen. But by not remembering them we allow the forgotten memories to become independent forces that can exert a crippling effect on our functioning as human beings.”
Nouwen continues,
“How are we healed of our wounding memories? We are healed first of all by letting them be available, by leading them out of the corner of forgetfulness and by remembering them as part of our life stories.”
I think Nouwen makes a really important distinction. See, we can wish away a painful past all we want, but regret is not the same as remembrance. Regret might choose to ignore. Remembrance reflects and pays attention. It’s in acknowledging the reality of our past that we can learn and grow into the people God calls us to be right now and in the future.
The second way I struggle is actually the exact opposite. I let the past have a hold on me. So, instead of trying to block out the past, I become hyper focused on it, letting it consume and define me. I overemphasize its role and grip it too tightly. The memories stunt my growth and the keep me from moving forward. As followers of Jesus, our call to remember should always lead to hope. Looking back should help move us forward. But when I overemphasize the past, that hope is often hindered. Instead of the past being a catalyst for growth, it becomes a heavy burden, weighing me down.
To use the same metaphor, it would be like driving that same 12 passenger van, but with a clear view through the rearview mirror, constantly looking back while disregarding what’s happening ahead and beside. Yes, it’s helpful to look back, to be aware and pay attention, but not at the expense of the full picture. When we do that, we risk missing a turn, veering off course, or ultimately crashing into something. When we are laser-focused on our past, we risk getting stuck.
I’m learning that these two extremes we often struggle with are not included in our call to remember. We aren’t called to ignore the past but we also aren’t called to dwell on it. So what does it look like to faithfully hold the past, without clinging too tightly or tossing it out altogether?
Well, I’m still learning. So please know that I don’t have it all figured out. But what I have learned so far is that the best way to hold the past is with intention. Even the hardest memories can be kind teachers. And it’s also important to recognize that the past is in God’s hands. Not in a cliche way that minimizes or makes light of our struggles or experiences, but in a belief grounded in the truth and promise that God restores, redeems, heals, and renews. God doesn’t hold our memories over us to intimidate or shame, but God also doesn’t throw them out as if they’re worthless. God is creative enough to take even our worst disasters and create something worthwhile.
Our hope should be that God will help us see the entirety of our stories in his hands. Rather than focusing on ourselves - what we’ve done or what’s been done to us - we should pay attention to God’s presence and faithfulness in our lives and the ways in which God has been working for good throughout it all. And I wonder what difference that might make – being able to see every part of who we are and every chapter of our story through God’s eyes and in God’s hands. When that’s the lens we choose to look through, when that’s the perspective we choose to embrace, nothing is wasted. And remembering becomes about so much more than just dwelling on the past. It enables us to see even our most difficult experiences - rejection, illness, heartbreak, abuse, loss, death, ridicule, injustice, shame, trauma, grief, and even our biggest mistakes - through a lens of hope.
Today, if you’re struggling with what it looks like to faithfully hold the past, remember, we look back to faithfully move forward. May we see even the difficult memories as kind teachers, choosing to view each part of our story through a lens of hope.