Recalling Dates

As I lay in bed this morning waiting for my alarm to sound, I recalled today’s date. Tuesday, January 20, 2026. It’s not unusual that I do that. Maybe it’s my way of setting in stone the hours before me. Or even more so, just a way of recalling what’s on my schedule for that day: Chick-fil-a with my husband and uncle, Everyday Farm and Garden to deliver my compost bucket (and visit with “our girls”), a trip to the pharmacy next door and five afternoon students.

Honestly, I have this uncanny relationship with dates. In no way is it hyperthymesia, or an autobiographical memory, where I can recall all the events of my past with great detail. But there are a large number of events that have a way of sticking with me. 

Of course, there are birthdays. That’s not that unusual. My husband, my children, grandchild, siblings, my parents and other relatives and friends who are dear to me. What might be unusual though are the birthdays of ones that have long passed. A grandmother, for example, who died when I was in third grade: born Oct. 17, 1902.

Dates of deaths are another that stick with me. Same grandmother: Jan. 17, 1967. Maybe it’s not that unusual to remember death dates, but admittedly, those days don’t bring quite the same celebration as birthdays. Yet those days do give opportunity to stop, remember and hold dear for a while that one who was but no longer is among us. 

What might be more unusual, however, is my ability to recall those dates that are more personal or odd in nature. Dates that often marked me as an individual. Dates that impacted me in a way that are known only to me and sometimes those nearest to me. Dates that are tucked into this heart of mine to be held sacredly and, yes, often times painfully. Like the night my house caught on fire when I was a child … and the fear instilled in me. Or the day of a move, whether to college or picking up roots and moving to another town. All specific dates I can bring up from memory. 

But it could also just as well be a date a word was spoken, both gracious and ill-fitting. A phone call, a letter, an email. A situation that literally changed the trajectory of my life. They all have dates attached to them. So what do I do with that? I give pause: to hold gently, to forgive, to offer thanksgiving, to bless. To remember. 

As I lay in bed this morning thinking about this, I was also aware that where I do NOT have a date is the day I received Christ. Whereas I have many spiritual markers, my testimony has always been and still is that I do not know a day when I did not love Him. When I haven’t known I was His and that He was mine. At one time that bothered me, because church told me I had to have a date to “nail it down.” But what I came to understand is that I didn’t need a date per se .. it was such grace to me. To have always known. 

Have I always lived in that truth, that reality of loving Christ and being known? No. I have failed Him miserably on many occasions and in many seasons. But I am Him. And knowing that has enabled me to face all the other dates that have come and gone. The good ones. The bad ones. The joyful ones. The painful ones. Ones that have held a conglomerate of emotions and feelings all at the same time.

The truth is that, in the end, all dates that I remember as well as all those I don’t, they have all been held by and sifted through the hands of a very good, faithful and loving God who has not only seen every last one of them but walked with me through them … and will continue to do so. And for that, I can say praise be to God.

Just an ordinary moment…