Will You Redeem Even This?

Fading memory & how our brain remembers

I spent the bulk of my pre-kids career working as a clinical social worker on a general medical floor at the largest hospital in my city. Our unit was called Senior Specialty and this meant that our youngest patients were well into their late seventies. It also meant that the majority of my clients were actually the adult children of aging parents who had often broken their hip and couldn’t remember to call for help. Without really choosing it, I became an expert in hospital delirium and geriatric psychosis. I was on a first name basis with most of the admissions coordinators at nursing facilities around my city and almost daily someone was in my office grappling with the reality that they were now the parent of their parent.

Photo by Jaime Maldonado on Unsplash

When I was very pregnant with our oldest, my belly became the conversation starter in every room. Women whose babies were well into their 60s would light up with a sense of camaraderie—they had once been in my shoes. I’ll always remember a woman who in the tender voice of a grandmother asked me to lean in so she could tell me something. I drew my ear down toward her face expectant for some sage motherly advice or perhaps just a kind comment from a woman who had gone before me, but her tone changed very sharply. She looked me square in the eye and said: “You can go to hell.” I’ll never forget the mortified look on her husband’s face. He apologized profusely and explained that she used to be a church-going lady, but dementia had given her a potty mouth.

Fading memory is cruel. I learned over the years that you either laugh in the moments that you can or you find yourself camped out at the bottom of a very dark well. As I’ve studied remembering this summer, I’ve wrestled with the reality that this beautiful thing God created our minds to do is also subject to decay and death. I’ve seen it firsthand and I’ve shared space with many as they’ve grieved it in real time. In a strange way, my own acquaintance with grief has served me well when despairing thoughts creep in about the fate of it all. I’ve got my reps in, as a dear friend likes to say, and this has afforded me some muscles in the clinging-to-hope-department. Rather than argue or question God with the illusive whys, I’ve found myself simply asking this too, God? Will you redeem even this?

The Neuroscience of Remembering - How we remember?

The design of our brains truly is amazing. Whether you believe in a Creator God or not, there is essentially universal agreement that the way our brains function is both incredible and a bit mysterious. Over the years I’ve had the privilege of attending some continuing education courses related to memory, soaking up information from people whose credentials have more letters than mine. Most recently I had the chance to chat with a professor who focuses on the neuroscience of addiction and he gave me this basic summary of four stages of remembering:

1. Working/Short-term Memory: This is like your brain's notepad, where you keep information you're currently thinking about. It holds onto things for a short time—like remembering a phone number just long enough to dial it. If you don’t use it or repeat it, you’ll probably forget it.

2. Consolidation/Long-term Memory: This is when your brain takes important information and stores it away for the long haul. If something really sticks with you—especially if it has a strong emotional impact—it’s more likely to be saved in your long-term memory, like memories of significant life events.

3. Memory Recall/Retrieval: This is the process of bringing back a stored memory when you need it. Sometimes, a specific cue—like a smell or a song—can help trigger a memory. For example, the smell of Irish Spring soap might make you think of your grandfather. This legit happened for me last month.

4. Reconsolidation: After you recall a memory, your brain puts it back into storage, but it can be slightly different now. This is a chance to update the memory with new information. For instance, if you see a friend who has changed their hairstyle, your brain adjusts your memory of them so you won’t be surprised next time you see them.

In short, it’s all about how we take in, store, and retrieve memories, and how they can change over time.

Remembering Redeemed - Will we remember in the end?

These are the mechanisms—the how—of our remembering, but understanding them leaves me feeling like I’m still squinting my eyes to see a complete picture. This is exactly what Paul is talking about in 1 Corinthians 13. Yes, this is the famous love passage, but it’s also where he speaks of understanding God’s world as we are able right now and as we will one day.

^“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12, ESV)

The word he uses for dimly is G135 which in the Greek means something like obscure, or riddle. Here Paul is plainly acknowledging the fact that life simply feels confusing sometimes. Things don’t always make sense. They feel incomplete. I’m grateful Paul simply acknowledged this mystery. Thanks for not pretending it all makes sense, brother. In the meantime, we’re left with the promise that one day the mirror will get a healthy dose of Windex. God will reveal himself fully and we won’t be left wondering why things played out the way they did. We won’t struggle to remember, we’ll just know because the parts of our story that felt hazy will have come into full view. I love the way Matthew Henry (a long dead, but ever relevant Biblical scholar) summarizes Paul’s point:

“When the end is once attained, the means will of course be abolished. There will be no need of tongues, and prophecy, and inspired knowledge, in a future life, because then the church will be in a state of perfection, complete both in knowledge and holiness. God will be known then clearly, and in a manner by intuition, and as perfectly as the capacity of glorified minds will allow.”

Photo by Blocks Fletcher on Unsplash

Build, Rest, Remain - What we do in the meantime.

This promise of future restoration helps me take hold of the tools that are available as I wait: faith, hope, and love. These are what remain, Paul says, in the middle ground of life right now. And I believe the practice of remembering is the means by which we experience them in our daily lives.

We remember what God has done so that we can rest. Just like the Israelites when they practiced Sabbath. We don’t have have to hustle when we remember that God will meet all of our needs.

We remember what God has done so that we can build. Just like Ezra and Nehemiah standing before the construction of the second temple and its wall. When we remember that God has rescued us, we can partner with him in building the Kingdom right now.

We remember what God has done so that we can remain. Just like the disciples clinging to the words of Jesus as they launched the early church. We remember what He said, the teachings and the ministry of His life poured out, and we’re anchored in a way that produces death-defying hope.

Perhaps like me your rhythms are about to change with the start of a new season or transition. As I preach this to myself, I wonder if all of us could consider the ways we build remembering into the new routines. Sometimes I move too quickly to efficiency and the idea of remembering seems unproductive, a move in the wrong direction even. But isn’t that the way of the Kingdom? What seems counterproductive to the world, actually produces the good stuff. If you’re looking for practical ways to remember, this episode of the podcast might be super helpful for you. My prayer today is that you will consider one small thing you can do to remember and try it on for a while. Maybe even report back. :)

Next week I’m taking the week to launch my kids off to school and reorient my life around the most personal space I’ve had in almost ten years. I won’t be sending out any new content, but I’ll be working on some for you. Beautiful stories, books, and resources are coming your way this semester — stay tuned!

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One last thing. The whole time I’ve been writing this article, I’ve been singing this song to myself by my husband’s favorite-of-all-time band Waterdeep. It’s called Both of Us Will Feel the Blast and I can’t find it on Spotify so I’m just giving you a random link. Here’s the lyric that I couldn’t shake:

“I hope we sit together when Jesus serves the wine
So I can look into your eyes when I taste it the first time
And I know there's no secrets when you're sitting at that table
But I believe we'll smile real knowingly when we read the label
And it says "passion sacrificed to keep from going crazy."
We'll tip our glasses to the Host who used to look so hazy
And drink it down all sweet and slow and slip inside His mind
And realize as it goes down- this is communion wine.”