"This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24
I have developed a new morning routine these last months.
It goes something like this:
1.) Prepare a (large) cup of coffee.
2.) Open an app on my device, read a scripture passage, reflect on a devotion, and then have a time of prayer. The app, d365, is intended for students and is made by one of our church partners—Passport Mission Camps.
3.) Set a timer for 15 minutes.
4.) Read the news from the Asheville-Citizen Times, the Raleigh News & Observer, and articles from a variety of different sources worldwide.
5.) Give thanks for setting a timer for 15 minutes. Why? If left to my impulses, I'd read the news for well over an hour and spiral into a sea of anxiety and despair.
6.) Say aloud the ancient Celtic Prayer, "St. Patrick's Breastplate," which reminds me that God is ever-present and all-powerful. After reading the news, I need a healthy dose of Jesus.
7.) Finally, I open an app called OneDrive. This software has a feature that presents the photos that I've taken on any particular day in the past. How does this work? The digital images that we began taking 15 years ago collected the date on which they were taken. The photos are sorted chronologically and are then presented as a kind of photo journal of what has happened on this day in my life.
This morning, I found that I had taken four photos on September 23. The first photo is of our family on an airplane when we took a trip to Baltimore last year on this day. The second photo is a picture I'd taken six years ago from a Blue Ridge Parkway overlook. The third photograph was of our newly renovated church playground in 2013. And the fourth photo was a picture of me at a desk at the first church that I served after seminary (the computer was the size of a compact car).
I've found myself looking forward to looking back. The photos that I've taken over the years tells me something about what I value. If my repository of photos is any indication, I enjoy taking snapshots of my family. I also like to capture moments of beauty. Yes, there are several photos of important documents that I've taken over the years. For the most part, though, the pictures in my collection are of the people I love—my friends, immediate family, and our church. And in these photographs, there are more smiles than smirks and more joys than sorrows. The photos document changes, of course, like hair color transitions and years in school. But they also remind me of important events, gatherings, and everyday matters like plumbing snafus that need referring to later.
What's missing in these pictures are the heavy burdens I was shouldering at the time. Interestingly, my memories do not immediately recall the foul-up I had manufactured at work or the worries that had curbed my appetite and were making my head ache. Perhaps my short-term memory is a liability. Or maybe, my inability to recall each day's sorrow and hardship is a grace.
I'm grateful that, for the most part, I tend to remember the good and do not keep a comprehensive record of all the anxiety and hurt, disappointment, and frustration that each day brought. What I remember most keenly are my relationships, the beauty of God's creation, and the place in life that I was occupying (like, burping our infant children). I'm grateful that the challenges I was facing have long since vanished for the most part.
The photos that I see each morning from the past serve as a call to action. The pictures raise two questions: "What do you want to remember from this day you're about to live? What do you want to see 'On this Day' when you see it pop up in your future?"
Lean into the good each day, because... you might as well. It's what you'll remember, anyway.