The sound reverberates, but the letters are hard to write.
You can say, “Forget about it.” That’s easy.
But sling it around a bit, and you can sound like a Chicago gangster,
“Fagidda about it...”
I remember praying many years ago.
Lord, give me a good forgetter.
He did, and I’m truly thankful.
I’m surprised I remember asking.
My recall is sketchy. Except.
I keep reminding myself I asked for it.
And the Good Lord obliged.
Most of what I write about
Are connected to my memories.
If God allows me to remember,
There must be a reason I don’t “Fagidda about it…”
As I age, and this is the tremor of mind,
I’m easily forgetting things I think I should remember.
Why did I walk into this room?
It happened yesterday.
Burn the calories and think.
Oh, yeah. My phone. Where is it?
You choose your friends,
And some are worthy bearers of that label.
But you are stuck with your family.
And those who are unworthy?
You are still stuck with them.
Stuck with their stories
They are intertwined with your own.
Shared when they should be allowed
To drip quietly away in the night.
Most are not important today.
Back then, they carried the day.
This thought comes to mind.
We live more in our past than we do in the present.
We can choose our memories like stones…
Stumble on them, climb over them, or build a better life from them.
Every time I read my Bible,
Something new comes to light
From God’s Word so Ancient
I think it through
It may feel like I knew
But there’s a kindred spirit that warms
It’s not something I wish to forget.
This morning? The Book of Job…
Moreover Job continued his discourse, and said:
“As God lives, who has taken away my justice,
And the Almighty, who has made my soul bitter,
As long as my breath is in me,
And the breath of God in my nostrils,
My lips will not speak wickedness,
Nor my tongue utter deceit.
(Job 27:1-4 NKJV)
That’s when I want to let my forgetter forget.
Thank you for reading.
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