When Memory Becomes Destination
the journey to truly see
The February air is sweet and rich with almond blossoms, the soil moist and cool underneath my feet. I take off my shoes to feel the thick earth, which adheres to my bare toes. Bright new grass sprouts on the orchard floor, and I lie on top of it beneath the tree branches, the white blossoms, and the blue sky.
I am eleven years old, and I am fifty-two. I am sixteen years old, and I am thirty-five. I am six, and I am twenty-seven. Younger. Older. Ageless. Always. New.
There are no boundaries to time and memory — the beautiful and the devastating, the hope-filled and the hard. Reality lives in the supernatural and spiritual, beyond what is temporal, inside the memory of what we always have — and what we don't yet know.
As I write this, my body is in Texas, my knee swollen and bruised from a two-day-old ski injury in Utah: a torn ACL and fractured bone. But my mind and heart are somewhere else: in memory that is more than memory — in moments I have lived and have yet to live. Memory makes me timeless and ageless. Where I am physically has little to do with the focus of my heart right now.
I want to give you new memories and remind you of ones we've already shared. Do not qualify which memories are good and which are bad. Fold yourself into Me. Remember. And trust Me.
My dad's almond orchard, where I ran with our dogs as a child — sometimes empty-handed, sometimes with arms filled with books — is also where, just a few years later, on a cold December night, I lay on frozen ground and aborted feeling: I learned I was pregnant and wanted no one to know. Almond orchards, for me, are a memory of desolation, life, beauty, and death.
Memory is an elusive thing. It can feel tenuous, fragile, and dangerous. There are things we want to remember and things we don't. There are moments tucked far away from our consciousness. And there are other memories we are unafraid to revisit. For all our good intentions, we forget, and we forget.
God, give us your memory. Help us to remember like you do.
I remember that my heart has always known God, and these are memories I am now discovering. As I consecrate my imagination to Him, I see the two of us together in a space both unknown and familiar: before death, before breath, before heart beating, before His love put me on earth. My birth is outside of time because my Creator is outside of time.
I am desire.
I am testimony.
A daughter and her Father.
I am proof of love.
The word for almond in Hebrew is shakeid, the root of which means to watch or to awaken. When God asks Jeremiah what he sees, he looks and says, "I see an almond branch." I think about Jeremiah looking for what God wanted him to see, how Jeremiah did see, and how what Jeremiah saw was something of such beauty.
Father, redeem our memories. Show us how to see.
And the word of the LORD came to me, saying, "Jeremiah, what do you see?" And I said, "I see an almond branch." Then the Lord said to me, "You have seen well, for I am watching over my word to perform it" (Jeremiah 1: 11-12).
In this temporal space of living, we humans — and beloveds with souls dearly loved by God — can allow God’s memory of us to recalibrate us. His love, which is beyond our memory of life on earth, can shape and reshape our current memories, the ones we remember and the ones we would rather forget.
Lord, be our Memory. You are the love within us; You are the compass who calls us Home.
The Book
I will mark the place, soft-run my palm
flat on the cover’s surface,
faded blue linen, thick vanilla cream.
Black typed letters either singing or
whispering a landscape with feigned
beginning, middle, and end. Like my life
when I turn it on its side, aching for the
most beautiful pages scented with pine
from Yosemite–and California almond blossoms
thick with bloom. Buzzing bees drink nectar
from gentle stems, and I am heavy with story,
use a single paragraph to describe the warmth of golden
sun on my skin, walk barefoot down
orchard rows of harvest, pick hot nuts off the ground.
Feel this shell, smooth and round in my hand.
I crack it open, popping tender sweetness in my mouth,
enjoy the fast-forwarding, this life,
pollination to birth to death, fortifying
the next sentence I am only beginning to read.
John Eldredge wrote “Memory, Imagination, and a Passion for Glory”
Alex Kocman wrote “Your Imagination Is Sacred”
Sample ➼ “Experience Jesus. Really” by John Eldredge (Rapt alum)
Sample ➼ “The Beauty Chasers” by Timothy Willard (Rapt alum)
We updated Rapt’s ‘Best of’ lists this week. Lots of new stuff!
Take a listen to two new songs that just broke into our ‘Best of’ music list: “I Know A Name” from Elevation Worship, Chris Brown and Brandon Lake, and “The King Is In The Room” from Phil Wickham.
John Eldredge is an author and ministry leader devoted to helping people discover the heart of God, recover their own hearts and live in God’s kingdom.
Wesley Hill is an author, a priest in the Episcopal Church and an associate professor of New Testament at Western Theological Seminary.
Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young is a speaker, Bible teacher and the award-winning author of more than 20 children’s books.
Courtney Ellis is the author of five books, pastors Presbyterian Church of the Master in Orange County, CA, and hosts “The Thing with Feathers” podcast.
P.S. Who should we interview next? Click here to let us know. And what new question would you like us to ask them? Click here to submit your suggestion.
“Healing isn’t about ‘fixing’ yourself or completing a checklist. It’s about stepping into the fullness of who you were created to be.” —Dan Allender
Would you like to join me in an encounter with God about this idea of memory? We need His healing for the tough memories we’d rather forget and also for how to see with His eyes the memories we remember but might take for granted. Click here for the Encounter, “The Impact of Our Memories.” And let me know if you complete the exercise. I would love to hear from you.
With hope,
Editor-at-Large, Rapt Interviews
Creator of Loop for Women
Co-executive Director, Gather Ministries
Jennifer, wow. I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m praying for a speedy recovery. It’s been quite a season for you both. Lots of joys and hard things, and painful things that you’ve shared. But, your words are oil… they flow like lyrics in a song. I’ve never thought about memories being blended together by our Father. I have always separated them in categories, or compartmentalized them: joyful, good, painful, bad, unthinkable, etc. actually my name River was given to me by the LORD to go with His prophetic calling on my life from Psalms 46:4&5. The thing is I don’t want to use my real name because of the memories associated with it. I cannot even say my name without feeling ill. However, your writings have helped me here to “see” a picture: like a clay vessel being made on the wheel and the Potter adding indentations and a variety of colors to it: memories of all kinds grafted in.
This makes it easier to accept the memories I cannot look at on their own. But together, somehow, with all the rest… they make the vessel Beautiful and Priceless. Thank you. 🙏
Jennifer, this is stunning. The way you hold memory with both reverence and surrender — as something sacred rather than sorted — is healing in itself.
Your phrase, “Memory makes me timeless and ageless,” lingered with me. It reminded me that the past isn’t gone — it’s folded into us, shaping the texture of who we are now. Your orchard becomes altar. Wound and wonder side by side. And the invitation to ask God to be our Memory — that’s something I didn’t know I needed.
Reading this, I felt less afraid of what I carry. The broken parts, the beautiful ones, the ones I still can’t name. Thank you for helping me see that, with Him, even the memories I’ve tried to bury can become doors to deeper knowing. Deeper presence. Deeper peace.
Praying for your healing, and grateful for how your words help others begin to heal too.