There is No One to Ask

My sister called to ask me if she had chicken pox when she was five years old.

One of the realities of being in the top chronological layer of generations is that there is no one left on earth that remembers your childhood.

In this case, my sister was trying to decide is she should get the shingles vaccine.

I knew she had measles. I knew I did not have measles. I knew I did have chicken pox. But, did she? I don’t know.

Somehow, as I think about this I am feeling like an orphan. There is no one that remembers this important information.

There is no one to retell the stories, either. Like how I always cut my bread into squares before Mom poured mild and sugar on it. (Everyone else in our family tore the bread in pieces and put them in a cup).

This longing for someone to acknowledge the reality of my childhood reflects the teaching of C. S. Lewis that we never stop being a child. He compares our aging to rings on a tree stump. The inner ring representing childhood does not disappear but is wrapped around by increasingly larger rings as decades pass.

I’m glad today that Papa God not only makes room for childlike faith in “faith through aging eyes” but that He delights in it.

As I long for someone to member my childhood, and to remember that I am still a child, I can turn that longing into gratitude.

Thank you, Papa God that you do not forget. Thank you that in You I will never be an orphan. Thank you that you remember the details of my story. Thank you, more importantly, that I have a role to play in your story.

There is Someone to Ask.

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