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forgetting defines me

I am really good at forgetting.

I forget where I put my keys. And my copies. And any official form I was supposed to fill out and return.
I forget to pay the water bill.
I forget my passwords.
I forget friend’s birthdays.
I forget meetings.
I forget that I was supposed to bring the snack to my son’s soccer game.
I forget to take the clothes out of the washing machine and put them in the dryer. For like a week. And then they have that horrible mildewy smell that is almost impossible to get rid of.
I forget to think before I speak.
I forget to charge my phone.
And I occasionally forget my way.
Both literally and figuratively.

And mostly I feel that these are due to my lack of organizational skills.
That maybe if I put everything in my calendar, like my husband keeps begging me to do, that I would be better about remembering.

And let’s be honest.
I am selectively forgetful.
Meaning I almost never forget a coffee date.
Payday.
When my favorite show comes on.
The lines to my favorite songs.
Or what chapter I am in the middle of even if I didn’t mark the page.
I would never forget a massage or hair appointment even though I never seem to remember to go get my allergy shots.

And that ugly comment that my husband let slip. I totally forgot and forgave him.
Until a month later when I am mad at him again. And then I remember. That comment that I forgot and a dozen others.
And an unhealthy friendship that was extra rocky. And I keep seeming to forget the rocky and pursue the parts that were good. And we hit another rock. And then I remember every little bump.
And I go out and do and say things and I totally know better. But I forget how much I am going to regret it the next day. Or after the text has been sent or the words that slipped. Or I have another pounding headache. And then I remember. And am sorry. And am really hoping that someone else will be willing to forget. Again.

And I am pretty sure that I treat my God like He forgets too.
I ask the same things over and over. Like He somehow forgot about me.
I keep saying I am sorry for the same stuff. Hoping He forgot that we have already had this exact same conversation. Just yesterday.
I doubt and question and wonder or worry, and think that maybe just this once, that He maybe fell asleep on the job.
And I forget about the ridiculousness of his love and grace and all the time I am trying to be enough. By myself. And that I can’t and never will be. But He always is.

And I know he is omnicient and all, but maybe God is a little bit selectively forgetful too.
That He never forgets me and never lets me go.
But that he gladly removes my sins. As far as the East is to the West.
And I’ve never really been good with directions.
But I’m pretty sure that is a distance that I’ll never span.
(Psalm 103:12)

Comments

This Heavenly Life said…
I love this, Michelle. I really, really hope God is selectively forgetful, too. Choosing to gracefully cover my mistakes -- the same ones I made last week.

Lovely post :)
February 8, 2011 at 6:21 AM
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