Memory

"Do this in memory of me," Christ said to the apostles, at the last supper.

Memory seems to be a big part of our lives...for when we die we will be a memory. As a matter of fact...when we leave a room, we become a memory. Memory seems to be the key to our "immortality." How we are remembered will live on after we are gone.

My dad made a big impact in my life...as did those precious Presentation Sisters who taught me in school...what they taught me about life and who I wanted to be...comes from the memories I have of them.

My dad didn't always tell the truth...he made up stories to make himself feel more important. As a child I would sit and listen to him boast about his accomplishments and how much money he had. He taught me a valuable lesson. The memory of that lesson lives with me today.

My sister had a beautiful laugh. We spent many a time laughing together at foolish things. These times of laughter are my fondest memories of my sister. Laughing for no apparent reason and enjoying every moment of it.

My eighth grade teacher was also the principle of the grammar school. She had to leave the room, often, to tend to business . When she would leave the room, she would say, "don't talk...if you do, remember God is watching...He knows what you do." When she returned to the room, she asked if anyone talked, and if they, had, raise their hands. My hand always went up...cause I always talked...I was a "blabber mouth" even then. HA! Sometimes I was the only one to raise my hand. I know I didn't talk to myself.

In my freshman year of high school...my English teacher would give us a list of weekly vocabulary words. We wrote the words and definitions in a notebook. She collected the notebooks periodically and corrected them. The writing had to be done neatly in ink with no mistakes. I had a new ballpoint pen...one of the first ones to come out...it smeared the ink on the back of the page in front. When the teacher collected the notebooks and corrected them...she saw what had happened to my book. I thought it would be alright...cause I had made no mistakes. WRONG! She took my notebook to the front of the room...with all the girls watching...and tore up my notebook and told me to do it all over again. I had a couple of months work in that book. But, I did it all over again in ink pen...not ballpoint pen. I learned a great lesson in that experience.

These stories are memories to me...memories that stand out in my mind...memories that shaped my life. Memories that live on in my life. Memories that I told my children...memories that, hopefully, will live on in them and their children.

When we meet a stranger we leave behind our memory...sometimes good ...sometimes bad. Some memories are conscious memories...others we receive by osmosis..seep into us unknowingly...without sight or sound or smell.

I am studying the scriptures...the life of Christ...His parable. In mass on Sunday we hear the readings from the Old Testament and the Gospel and listen to the Homily. We are part of the Consecration of the mass...we walk to the altar and receive the Precious Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ. At the end of mass the priest blesses all and says..."the mass is ended, go in peace to love and serve the Lord." When we leave the church, we step over the threshold...taking with us, "His Memory."

Can others receive "His Memory" from me?