Hope is Made of Memories

The sights, sounds, and smells of this holiday season evoke memories of days-gone-by. We should be keenly aware that for some, those reminders are not necessarily pleasant.

While the fragrance of cookies baking or lighted decorations and traditional music may warm our hearts, the same things might also call to mind old wounds. What is wonderful for one causes depression for another. It is always a good idea as we cheerfully celebrate the light, to walk gently and with open hearts for those who struggle silently during this season. What we can bring along with us as we travel together is hope. For it carries the universal message that love will overcome all adversity.

I borrowed the title of my column today from the visionary activist and spiritual leader, Joan Chittister. She goes on to say;

“Hope reminds us that there is nothing in life we have not faced that we did not, through God’s gifts and graces...however unrecognized at the time...survive. Hope is the recall of good in the past, on which we base our expectation of good in the future however bad the present. ”

— Joan Chittister

And so, indeed, hope is made of memories. Even when those recollections are painful. We are still standing despite, or even because of adversity. We have overcome it all and have the potential to serve as a beacon for others. This is why sharing our memories is so important. If we remain silent in denial of our valuable experiences, nobody will have the opportunity to know us, connect with us, or learn from us. Hope is a gift both given and received when we are brave enough to share our stories.

Here is an example of what I'm trying to get across.

The most amazing things happen around the tables at a meeting of AA (and other Anonymous groups). Though the foundations and principles of recovery are contained in their 12 Steps, much of the healing that goes on happens as people openly tell their life stories. It is initially unsettling for an outsider to hear men and women laughing as a speaker discloses what seem to be horrific losses and tales of damaging misadventures.

But without fail, some other participant will approach the teller later and make the remark that they felt as if they were hearing their very own story and how much it meant to know they are not alone. Hope flows around those rooms more freely than anywhere I have ever visited.

I think one reason their unfettered sharing is so powerful is that their revelations roughly follow a formula described as 'what it used to be like...what happened...and what it's like now'. In other words, there is no room for war stories if they cannot point toward hope for tomorrow. Wouldn't it be great if each of us could be so courageous as to offer our own memories.

Since hope is made of memories, make time to reconstruct some of your favorite and most meaningful ones this season.

Tell them to those with whom you gather over the holidays. Write them down or record them for loved ones to treasure in the future. Some hearts will be gladdened. Someone will be touched. Someone will see a flicker of light where darkness seemed overwhelming. There is no gift presented which will have more impact or be more fondly treasured than this.

Here is one of mine which I call The Christmas Boxes.

One of the warm Christmas memories that I have comes from 1992. I had been living in the mountains of North Carolina near Brevard for almost two years and had just moved into an A-Frame home near Lake Toxaway. My good friend, Michael Sessom, had been staying with me. The move took place in November and it was obvious that the house would lend itself nicely to holiday decorations. Michael called it a Christmas House. The steep two-story ceiling would accommodate a huge tree but buying one that tall would be impossible. Friends of mine came to the rescue. They chopped down a gigantic pine and hauled it down to the house for Thanksgiving. A wood frame had to be constructed just to hold it. Hours of planning, building, pulling and yanking finally resulted in success. The living room was filled with a magnificent tree. Michael spent days putting balls and ornaments on it. He made dozens of “God Eyes” and other things to hang. It took lots and lots of lights as well. The finished Christmas tree was impressive to say the least but the few little presents underneath looked lonely. This led Michael to make a decision that would change the way that I would look at presents.

We were admiring the tree after work at Bridgeway Treatment Center one chilly December night. Michael was disappointed in the emptiness underneath and made a suggestion. “Let’s wrap up the moving boxes like Christmas presents.” He said. “You take half of the boxes and I will take the other half. Then we will write a Christmas memory and put it in the box. On Christmas Eve we can open them and share our memories.” I agreed with some hesitation. It sounded like a silly idea to me. But, we went about the job for the next several days. The big wrapped boxes looked stunning around the tree. It was perfect. Our Christmas Eve opening was moved to the day before because I was headed up to Illinois to be with my daughters. There was never a more emotional or deeply moving present exchange. Each box contained such joy and happiness. The old memories reflected the great love that we both had experienced in our lives. The meaning of Christmas went far beyond the material things that year and has traveled with me ever since.

Tell Your Stories on Memorial Day

“Here is your country. Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children’s children. Do not let selfish men or greedy interests skin your country of its beauty, its riches or its romance.“ ~ Theodore Roosevelt

Memorial Day weekend is here.

We are leaving in planes, trains and automobiles to celebrate the unofficial start of summer.  Of course, there are more somber reasons for this holiday.  The observance began three years after the end of The Civil War in response to neglected graves of soldiers who gave their lives for cause and country.The original May 30 date for ‘Decoration Day’ (as it was originally called) has been changed.  We now recognize and honor all of those who died in wars and in peacetime.  We put flowers on the resting places of parents, grandparents, children, relatives and friends.  Memorial Day has certainly expanded.

"If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people." ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

Memorial Day reminds me of who I am.  Each of us comes as a reflection of generations.  Our ancestors are there in the lines and creases, the smiles and the color of our eyes.  Even the inflections of our speech and sense of humor belongs not only to us.  I am made up of their memories.  One of the things we might do on this weekend is to share those memories with family members.What a fitting time this holiday weekend is to tell stories that will honor who we are and who we bring with us. I wish I had listened more closely to the ones that were told when I was a boy. Like so many people, I wish there was a recording of Dad’s voice, his reflections on his service during the war, his perspectives on peace and stories of his childhood.  I long for Mom’s recollections of being a girl and rebelling against her own mother and father.So, I encourage everyone to spend some time at family gatherings this weekend to tell folks about your adventures and misadventures, to share your memories.  You may have to wrestle the younger ones to the ground, bribe them with ice cream or catch them at bedtime.  But now is the time.  Don’t wait because someday, someone might be happy that they listened.

Today I will start to tell my stories.  I will bless my ancestors by passing them on.

Robert Kenneth Jones is an innovator in the treatment of addiction and childhood abuse.In a career spanning over four decades, his work helping people recover from childhood abuse and addiction has earned him the respect of his peers.His blog, An Elephant for Breakfast, testifies to the power of the human spirit to overcome the worst of life’s difficulties. We encourage you to visit and share this rich source of healing, inspiration and meditation.

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