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I sat on the edge of her bed brushing a strand of long hair off of her forehead with my fingers. “Good morning, Sweetie! You look so pretty,” I said. She did. Her eyes were barely open, her lips full, not yet stretched in a smile. Cheeks rosy. Her breathing slow and rhythmic. An arm slid out from under the covers and straightened. I wished I had a camera to capture this moment of waking. So simple and unrehearsed.
I told her that. And then it hit me.

“You know,” I said, “My heart has a memory.” I had never thought of it quite like this before. It doesn’t store the kind of image you can see as you flip through a scrapbook, showing the details vividly. Time has a way of making those lines fade. No, these in the heart are the ones that begin with the desire of never forgetting.

A tender kiss. That first smile. Young brothers wrestling like puppies day after day. Squeals of delight as daddy approaches, eager to tickle.  A handful of yellow dandelions with assorted sized stems that might just make it home to a vase before they wilt completely in warm, thoughtful hands. Listening to small voices talk in their own world of Bitty Babies, doll houses and Hotwheel cars. Holding a sweet-smelling Snuggler or two in footsie pajamas. Reading “Go, Dog! Go!” for the umpteenth time. Late night talks when you both know it is way past a profitable bedtime. A long weekend with My Love. Bed-side prayers revealing cares and worship.

How many times had I tiptoed quietly into one of their rooms to wake them up or check them while they slept? Was this time any different from the rest? Could it be that this was one of those moments I didn’t feel the rush of a schedule and I simply took time to notice? How she has grown! Over night again, I am sure. It was yesterday I witnessed those little chubby arms stretching to their full extent, but only reaching as far as her head. Yesterday, I saw her asleep on her daddy’s chest, the two of them in dream-land on the couch.

Where do all these precious yesterday’s go? My mind is quick to forget even as hard as I try to remember. But, my heart. My heart soaks the moments in. No, they cannot be played back in high-definition with surround sound. But, they are there, warm and fuzzily clearer. Treasured memories that permeate life, producing another rich layer of love.

What about you? What does your heart remember?

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