Keeping This One for Me

As the first born child and grandchild on either side of the family, Samuel's life has been exhaustively documented.  His baby book is complete and bulging with memorabilia. (Please don't ask about Benjamin's.) We have emailed, texted, tweeted, Facebooked, and Instagramed images of church and school performances, soccer, football, and baseball games, and cub scout award ceremonies to his grateful out of state grandparents and our probably less grateful friends. 

Three weeks ago, Micah and Samuel sang with their respective church choirs. I took multiple pictures of Micah, but when Samuel's group walked up to the stage I put the camera down and didn't pick it back up.

Several years ago there was a Newsweek article about a woman who forgot to bring her camcorder to her daughter's dance recital. Panic ensued. Mom guilt took over and her mental state got ugly.  Then, with the first strains of the music, the fog of her anguish lifted and she relaxed.  The camcorder would not magically appear and, as this was in the era before cell phones, she had no other choice but to sit and watch the show. It was the best recital she remembered watching because, well, she watched it. Undistracted by technology, she noticed details about her daughter's performance that she wouldn't have otherwise noticed because she was too busy documenting it. 

As I lifted my phone to capture the song, that article flashed through my mind.  I immediately put it down and made a conscious effort to sit and watch my son. He was confident and unafraid, but not quite relaxed.  The lights on stage were bright and caused most of the kids to lower their faces just a touch, creating a look of concentration. Samuel was no exception. Finally looking at ease as the song ended, he smiled conspiratorially at his best friend who stood next to him, and they ambled down the stage steps together. I thought he was marvelous.

Once the performance ended, another story of another woman came to mind, though this one was far older than the other.  Scripture speaks of a young girl who kept memories of important moments to herself, choosing, instead, to "treasure [them] in her heart" rather than share them. I imagine in times of fear or doubt or loneliness, Mary replayed the images of the adoring shepherds and worshipful magi and let them sit with her, comforting and sustaining her like a trusted friend.

I want to learn to treasure those moments, too. Perhaps my memories are a bit more mondane. Moments that come a thousand times a day and flit away as quickly as they come. A silly look, an awkward smile, or a quiet moment sitting together. These are the memories I want store up, because some memories, no matter how common, are too sacred to be let loose into the world.

My son is growing up quickly. Where there used to be a pudgy toothless baby, stands a gangly, snaggle tooth eight year old that smells of dirt and boy. As his mom, I am priviledged to bear witness to his life.  Some of that life I will share and some I am learning to keep just for me.