The Memory Keeper

I'm about halfway through the on-line writing class I'm taking. I love it. It has gotten me to think, and it's made me feel like I can do things I never thought I would. One of the first questions we were asked was "Why do you write?" I started writing as a kid, probably a school assignment. I remember how pleased my mom and dad were. I got a lot of encouragement. Positive feedback made me want to do more.

Now, I think I write to put things in order, and to hold on to them. To remember. My memories may not always be one one hundred percent accurate, but they're enough for me to be able to relive a day--the way I felt, the people I was with, what I saw and heard; even what I smelled. That's why I started blogging. I can look back now at some of my earliest posts and realize that, although I may not remember writing them, they still conjure the feelings that I experienced in the telling.

My sister, Karen, does the same thing with her scrapbooks.

Last summer I sent Karen a story I had written about the day we buried our sister, Melissa. Her response was was so beautiful, straight from her heart to mine, that I asked her if she had ever thought about writing. She said no, she could not see herself doing that.

But I realized that for the last twenty years, Karen has gifted our family with memories we can actually touch in the form of her scrapbooks.

Karen is an artist with the heart and patience of a saint. Her earliest books were old-school. She would spend hours in scrapbooking stores, poring over papers and letters and stamps, investing in albums and embellishments. Her home studio was a creative soul's dream.

Now Karen's books are put together on-line. When we hold these works of art, we are holding bound, hardcover books with photographs on the covers as well as on the pages. And Karen does write. She writes wonderful, concise little stories to go with her pictures.

I can't explain what these treasures mean to our family. In my spare room, I have hidden away enough photographs to paper all four walls. I no longer dream of putting them in any kind of order. I don't know what's going to happen to all of those memories. I am just so thankful that what God forgot to give me in the way of organizing skills, he more than made up for when he gave us Karen her gifts of beauty and generosity.

Someday I will tell you about her flower gardens.