Looking back I know I've had a rough childhood. I cannot make a precise contrast to the past of those around me, but to me I feel that I have had to encounter certain challenges that no child should have to even worry about, not at the age of innocence.
I was doing my laundry today and reminiscing about the joys of being a child. For the most part as I look back I distinctly recall the endless memories of joy I have felt as a child. But I had to ask myself, "how is it that I remember so much good amidst so much pain and hardship I have had to deal with?" A strong emotion with a wave of memories flooded my heart and mind; it was all of my mother.
I am the middle child of seven in my family, so it is very understandable that my parents struggled to divide their time equally amongst each and every one of us. As children typically do we all craved for attention–for nourishment and to be loved. There is a myth that the middle child is typically the one to be given the least amount of attention. Whether this is true or not I do not know. But I do know that in my family I was given special attention from my mother and for that reason I now realize we share a strong mortal connection with one another.
I would rather not share the details of the childhood nightmares I've had to encounter, but suffice it for me to say that I possessed differences amongst my peers that, as a result, created a barrier of communication between them and I. But mom, she always seemed to understand me–why I acted and said the things I did, why I had too much energy to sit still in class and church, why I had to go to the doctors all the time, why I needed to sit in special-ed classes and learn how to read/study well, why I was constantly picked on by others. I remember moments when she cried helplessly wondering what to do with me or how to help me. I remember knowing she was sad, but I didn't understand why; I had my own reasons for being sad. Yet, amidst the sadness I felt as a child, I cannot recall ever not feeling loved by my mother.
As I was thinking heavily in the laundry room about how much mom has sacrificed for me and how much she made me feel loved and important, my eyes watered up. More importantly because of her love and special attention for me I now have a reservoir of photographic memories shared between our mortal souls. I remember when I must have only been about 2-3 years of age and I was sleeping in my crib. I was wearing red pajamas, the kind that are like jumpsuits and cover your feet. My two older brothers and older sister had already gone to school and mom had stood by my crib to wake me up. She brushed her soft hand on my cheek and called my name. I also remember the things she would tell me to motivate me to accept my differences–reading me stories of certain people, like Thomas Edison, who have had to overcome personal struggles like my own and became great in the end. I remember distinctly the car-drives to the doctores and how mom would rub my back or head to calm me down; then, afterwards she would treat me to McDonalds or to get an ice cream cone. Memories are what keep me from turning back; dreams are what keep me moving forward. But as I broaden my perspective looking back into the years in which I have grown and overcome many of those challenges–as I look back now as a mature man–those memories seem so far away.
While looking out the window of the laundry room I saw a man busily talking on his cell phone, cars passing by to get some place in a hurry, people walking with preoccupied looks and stressed facial expressions. I could not help but ask myself, "what happened to the memories? Why is it the further back I look the more the memories I have; and, as I trace my memories back to the present the memories are only clustered in certain special moments or events–the first time I was invited to a birthday party, my first day in middle school, the first time I kissed and fell in love with a girl, the day I got my mission call to go to Brazil, etc." I realized that the older and busier we get, the more we forget–the more we lose sight of the daily moments we saw as children and look for tomorrow to save us of our grief, loneliness, pain, worries, and stress. Like the individuals I was observing outside the window, I realized that I too have become so drenched in my own problems that the chance to live in the moment was slipping every second of the day.
How to make a memory. That question still repeats in my head till this very hour that I decided to share this. For those who may be wondering how we can have more blissful memories or how to create them, I have simply traced my mind back to when I was a child and found the answer for myself. In my childhood mind I don't remember ever having to worry about myself too much. As I reiterated before, the love I felt from my mother clothed me with warmth and comfort in every needed moment. But as I grew and developed a mind of my own I started to forget to wear that love around me and began to feel the nakedness of self-consciousness and worry. Those years of metaphoric nakedness have merely become trapped beneath a shadow of unhappy memories and painful mistakes–the types of things we usually like to forget or try to. But occasionally as I grew from boy to man I would remember the kind of love my mother gave me and clothe myself in it, utterly forgetting the pain, stress, and self-consciousness I attempted as substitutes; it was in those moments that memories were created.
IT IS LOVE THAT WETS OUR BRUSHES AND PAINTS AWAY THE SORROWS AND CARES OF AN ADULT LIFE! When we were children we were surrounded by love for that is all we thirsted for. Now I must ask, what is it we thirst for now? To be socially accepted? To escape the realms of reality into a "high"? To increase the amount of friends within our circle and feel secure about ourselves? To have attention/be acknowledged? What do we thirst for the moment we wake up to the moment we close our eyes and dream? Why has social media become so addicting? Why do we typically conform to the way others around us think, do, and feel? I tell you, why is it that we make so many mistakes and cannot seem to forget them?
Memories are made in the moments we remember to love or to feel loved. I must boldly declare that we are all still children in our hearts because deep down we STILL thirst to feel loved as we always were and are. But we have forgotten to search for that love and where to find it. That is the quest we must surely remember to take and endure to the end no matter what. For those who are Latter-Day Saints and/or have read The Book of Mormon, I believe this is EXACTLY the point illustrated in Lehi's vision of The Tree of Life where the tree represents the love of God, "the most desirable above all things" (1 Nephi 11:22). In that word 'desirable' implies a need, a thirst that we ALL possess. We are all cursed to feel hungry and thirsty so long as we are mortal. No matter how many times we eat and drink, hunger and thirst remain our most persistent enemies and most loyal friends. How do we make a memory? We fill our hearts and minds with the Love of God.
