So I Won't Forget...February 2025
3 things I want to remember from the past month.
Last night I sat around a table with a gaggle of women collectively bemoaning the month of February. I heard sentiments like “it’s truly the worst month of the year” and “I shouldn’t be surprised, I feel this way every year” and even “I think I just feel a little depressed.” By the end of the evening we had filled our bellies with good food and our resolve with the reminder that February is officially behind us.
Mine was filled with no shortage of writing material. Either I really have refined my remembering senses—surely that’s the case after a year of doing this—or my February simply offered up more than drudgery. I think a little of both are true.
But first, an invitation…
The notes app on my phone holds a lot of thoughts that eventually blossom into content for So I Won’t Forget posts. Lingering on that page for a while has been an idea to welcome others into the practice of remembering in a more concrete way. I’ve alluded to it here on Substack and I’ve included prompts at the end of essays, but until today I’ve never offered a pathway for others to do this with me—to remember as a spiritual discipline through writing.
So many of you read these posts and express a similar stirring in your heart to capture the things of God unfolding around you. Maybe you’ve even wondered if you could start writing about it. My resounding encouragement is yes, you can and there’s space for you to do that.
So We Won’t Forget will come out later this Spring and include the work of other beautiful writers as they remember God’s movement in their lives. If you’d like to join us—for your writing to be included—below is a resource explaining how to get started. Don’t resist the little tap on the shoulder that’s been there for a while—IYKYK as the young people (used to) say.
So I Won’t Forget #1…Fish funerals and slowing down
My Valentine’s card from my husband went something like this: “I’m sorry I killed the fish. Please accept this gift as a small token of my love.” It deserves a special place in the annals of our family history because the whole fish situation really got away with us.
It started with one of our children winding herself up to tears on the way home one day about how she didn’t have any animals. I guess she forgot about the golden retriever that lives here too, but it didn’t seem like the time to point that out. Then I had a brilliant idea to pitch the kids on doing a joint project for school. It was going to be a two-birds-with-one-stone situation—two projects completed and only one tri-fold cardboard display to schlepp into the building. The only problem was getting them to agree on a topic. In my haste I threw out the idea of getting a fish because I knew animal care had been on the brain and it might lure them into agreement. Also, what could be simpler than a fish, right?
No fish. The answer is no fish.
Seconds, and I do mean seconds, after their adorable project came home, they were ready to claim their prize. Before I could even shut my car door, I was hearing words like "you promised!” So I rearranged our entire afternoon to procure the fish—except the fish (singular) seemed to be morphing into the fish (plural). The cute little glass bowl with a goldfish that I had envisioned turned into 3 separate tanks with filters and heaters and rocks and accessories. It all happened so fast.
In our scurry to set everything up, we dismissed the kids comments about how the fish seemed a bit lazy. He’s not moving very much, Mom. Why is he tilting on his side? My husband explained that the fish had probably been in small containers for a few days and would likely perk up in their new homes. Wrong…so wrong. The next morning 2 out of 3 were floating upside down and we were reading A Liturgy for the Burial of a Pet on our side yard before school. How do I validate my kids’ feelings, teach them compassion for even the smallest of God’s creatures, and NOT laugh while replaying Michael Scott’s parking lot bird funeral in my brain? These were our real life struggles on Valentine’s Day morning.
Later that evening after the kids had gone to bed and we laughed recounted the events of the day, my husband realized that he had forgotten to condition the tap water. What had started as a shortcut—a scheme to get stuff done—turned into a hurried mess that quite literally had life-altering consequences. I suppose we can be thankful that the lives lost were that of tiny fish, but alas a moment for the fish…
And a moment for the laughter and tears and reminder that hurriedness often makes things more complicated, shortcuts usually make things take longer, and even the tiniest of creatures deserve a proper burial.
So I Won’t Forget #2…The women who sweat before me
Several years ago we bought an exercise bike. My husband was training for a big race and needed a way to get miles in between longer Saturday rides. Prior to this I had never done any kind of cycling workout, but because it was sitting there in the office and because I loathe running, I decided to try it.
I need to preface this by saying I’m going to talk about my own sweat and I’m sorry. Anyone who has ever cycled understands that the two go hand in hand because cycling produces hair-is-literally-wet-underneath and you-must-shower-immediately kind of sweat. It’s gross and oddly satisfying. During the colder months I tend to cycle more often because its too dark to walk in the morning. This is how I learned that our bike sits directly above an air vent. Great if you’re snuggled in bed, not great if sweat is dripping down your elbows and Kim the trainer is yelling in your earbuds to go, go, go all out.
On a recent ride I noticed the vent after my feet were clipped in and my heart rate was already elevated. I didn’t want to dismount and shift the whole bike around in the office because my pace had already synced up with Kim the yelling trainer. I leaned over and grabbed the nearest book I could find and somehow managed to toss it on the floor covering the vent. When my ride was over, I realized I had dripped sweat all over it and the sweat was already starting to dry in little concentric circles—again, gross and I’m sorry. I suppose the good news for my family is that it was my book.
I had just ordered a copy of Sandra Richter’s latest Bible study titled Deborah: Unlikely Heroes and the Book of Judges after listening to her talk about it on a podcast. Dr. Richter has been a treasured resource for me over the years, particularly her book Epic of Eden which I think is the most beautiful overview and cohesive teaching of the Old Testament I’ve ever read—a whole-hearted recommendation from me, please just go order it right now. This latest book on Deborah also includes her teachings on the biblical theology of women in ministry and I couldn’t get through it without crying twice and sending it to a couple of friends.
One of those dear friends happened to be ordained last week at our church and it was truly beautiful. I had the privilege of peeking inside the process as she discerned this calling on her life and the joy of watching her kneel before our bishop and promise to give her life to serve the Church. I thought about Deborah, Mary, Phoebe, Sandra, Lucy, Beth and all the women who have gone before us in boldness and somehow the sweat on the book cover about Deborah seemed a poignant metaphor.
When I got home I couldn’t get the connection out of my head so I found the book—still stained from my workout—and read the back cover:
Into this morally-ambiguous time comes one of the most unlikely leaders of the biblical text—the prophet Deborah. She is a wife and mother in an entirely patriarchal world, yet due to her integrity and courage, she transforms chaos into order and leads Israel in one of the most pivotal victories of the settlement period.
I bet Deborah got sweaty…if only she had lived to see deodorant. Holding it in my hands, I whispered a prayer that God would somehow let me be among the tiny concentric circles of women whose sweat has paved the way for women to read, write, and teach the Bible. Kim the Yelling Trainer is great, but these women are my real heroes. These are the women I’m following as I teach my girls how to be women who study, pray, think, lead…and sweat for the sake of the Kingdom. Go, go, go all out.
So I Won’t Forget #3…Superpowers aren’t born in silos
Many moons ago I hitched my wagon to an entrepreneur.
It was a time when the word entrepreneur was barely definable. Most of us just nodded our heads knowingly because we had watched The Social Network. We had no idea that entrepreneur actually meant working out of your spare bedroom while potty training a puppy or that fundraising a startup meant proving to investors that the model would actually generate revenue. (Ok that last one seems obvious, but in my defense I was a 24 year old social worker with a bleeding heart and the experience of a toddler.)
But we did it—worked hard, failed a little, grew a ton, and tucked away in the quiet of our hearts the realization that we’d for sure do it again one day. It turns out “one day” was last week. I drove downtown to my husband’s office for a gathering they covertly planned for him. He’s not one for surprises or for being the center of attention so I was thrilled to watch him squirm as they teased him, thanked him, and said all kinds of lovely things about him.
These people have been a gift in our lives. Dustin often remarked to me “these are some of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” And they’re also a whole smattering of other things like generous, kind, innovative, and just so talented. Our kids and even our dog love them.
During the presentation they commented over and over again on Dustin’s kindness and the way he uses his superpower of empathy to drive innovation. One person said that he was “a good reminder that being professional doesn’t exclude being human.” I took pictures and choked up and reflected on their words on the way home. What they said is true and no one has been a richer recipient of Dustin’s kindness than me, but also his superpowers weren’t born in silo. His remarkable empathy, his skills, and his creativity grew from an environment that valued them and said we want more of this in the way we do business. I never want to forget that.
Today we’re both sitting in separate offices—he’s working on whatever it is he does now and I’m writing. We’re multiple houses, multiple jobs, multiple kids deep since the early days of entrepreneurship—life is more seasoned now and less survivalist. This means we’re ready to build again and hopefully more equipped to do so. By God’s grace, we’ll remember that good companies are not built by accident or by one person, but nurtured by the people who value the things that really matter. Here’s to Round Two…may we have eyes to see, intellect to build, and people who help us stay connected to the vine.
“The true test of civilization is, not the census, nor the size of cities, nor the crops—no, but the kind of man the country turns out.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson in his famous essay that coined the famous phrase “hitch your wagon to a star”
A few quick reminders about what’s happening around We Have This Hope right now…
Write your own mini-essay and be featured in So We Won’t Forget coming out later this Spring. Read this page for details.
The final installment of the first ever Bible study via Substack comes out Thursday. You can start the beginning with this post. Invite a friend to join you!
I couldn't be more honored to have had you as a part of my journey. To more years of spurring eachother on!!!
This was beautiful and thoughtful, Emily. Your writing always inspires me to slow down and think about what’s happening rather than rushing on past it all.