Clothing Memories with Words by Tracy Williamson

Walking the pebbled sandy beach, the lap and roar of the waves, the stiff breeze in my face, the warm sun on my back.  Staggering together down the pebble slopes, me theoretically guiding Marilyn but Marilyn holding me up as I lose my balance yet again.  Flat wet sand without a pebble in sight.  Releasing Marilyn's arm and seeing her run forward in the joy of freedom;  unguided, uncontrolled.

Memories like bubbles; a moment in time, Goldie diving into the sea to catch ball, us paddling and trying to stay upright as strong waves tug our ankles; salty air on my lips as I try to finish reading the chapter to Marilyn before the rain comes.  Sitting on the bench gasping after climbing the steep slopes of our zigzag; the joy of hot salty chips and ice cream dripping into Goldie's eager mouth. 

Memories, as fleeting as a ray of sun bursting through the black clouds, as insubstantial as the grains of sand flowing through my fingers.  Yet every grain of sand contributes to the beach, yes even creates the beach. Every grain counts.  Every memory is important, part of my story even creating my story. . 

Walking thus on a beach is only one of the billions of memories that shape my life, my person and through what I write and share, my world.  What was important when I was five, or five minutes ago?  Those memories become alive as I clothe them with words.  With words I own that memory, cherish its delight, mourn its sorrow and craft the story of my history inviting others to share. 

How did Jesus friends know how to craft the Gospels? They remembered.  The noise, the smells; the crowds pushing and shoving around Jesus; the scary wonder of feeling food multiply in their hands, seeing blank white eyes suddenly stare with knowing focus, clods of earth pelting their heads as they press in to hear every word Jesus speaks only to be interrupted by the vandals tearing the roof and ceiling apart to lower the shrunken, immobile man upon a mat; shock as they hear the tender words of healing and peace fall from Jesus lips and see the miracle of a life changed beyond all hopes and dreams. 

Memories - wild flowers becoming channels of revelation; tender mercy personified; joy and horror; despair then hope.  Memories taking form as they built them with words; words paving the way to reflection; reflection opening the door to insight, revelation, understanding and growth.  Billions and trillions of lives changed as people read those disciples memories and make them their own story.  Bubbles; Grains of sand; encounters with self, with life, with God.

We all have memories and its often the most ordinary that make the story real.  The addictive pull of chocolate, the wonder of a smile, the softness of the baby's hair, the relief of a sip of perfectly made tea; of hope inherent in the new day . .

As writers we have the enormous privilege of giving life and form to our memories through our words.  Our memories are rich, our words make them richer still and open the door to them being known and lived.  Thank you Lord for memories and the words by which the invisible are seen and the insubstantial take form.  Words through which I see, I hear, I understand and I grow.


Tracy Williamson is a writer and speaker working together with blind singer/songwriter Marilyn Baker for MBM Trust an itinerant music and teaching ministry. www.mbm-ministries.org Tracy who is deaf and partially sighted is about to release her 8th book A Beautiful Tapestry , the story of her and Marilyn's lives and ministry together.