As I was getting a drink out of the fridge this evening I had the most vivid memory of my uncle trying to convince my cousins and I that the light in the refrigerator never went out. No matter how we tried to convince him that it turned off when the door closed, we could never provide any proof. It was just a silly game he liked to play with us and I have no idea why it popped into my head as I returned the juice to its shelf.

I can’t imagine my uncle ever thought a moment of him being a goofball would be a part of my memory bank as an almost 40 year old.

It made me realize, though, that I can try my hardest to give my kids good memories but ultimately I have zero control over what they will remember.

I want them to remember the adventures, the vacations, the times in which I sat and read the books when I didn’t want to, spa nights, and time spent playing video games (aka being a fun mom), but so often it is literally the most mundane of moments that are remembered. Or worse yet, it’s the not so happy parenting/life moments that we carry with us. What if they remember the times I yelled and threw things, or cried in a corner, or said bad words when yet another glass of milk was spilled at the table?

I hope they remember the good, but I have to trust God with their memories. I have to trust Him enough that He will outweigh all of the negative impact my humanness has had on them because His goodness is just that good.

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