Who will remember for me...

I realized that I forgot my baptism.  In doing so, I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach, much as I did reading the article about the warning signs of Alzheimer's.  My baptism.  Just the third anniversary.  How...how could it be that I forgot the day?

I mean, for the past few weeks, really back into June, I was anticipating the date.  The external that I could point to, cling to, hold on to like a mast while a storm rages all around, tossing my small craft to and fro, swamping the deck with relentless waves threatening to sweep me overboard.  Two weeks ago, I even got out the candle that I have forgotten to light the past two years and set it on top of the cabinet where I keep it.  This year, I was going to remember the candle.

I forgot the day.
I forgot the candle.
I forgot the baptism.

How could I forget the latter?  Because I struggle...often...with remembering that I am absolutely, fully, daily forgiven.  Sometimes, I think the dyautonomia is my foe's most effective weapon against me.  I mean, when you are most miserable with the stomach flu, when you entire body is aching and nausea rules your every waking moment, when vomiting only heightens the agony rather than provides relief because you continue to do so even when nothing remains in your stomach, when diarrhea makes the misery seem utterly unbearable...even then there is an end.  In a few hours, in a few days...there will be and end.  There is no end for me, until I die or until a miracle occurs.

Just when I think that I can bear it, I cannot.  Just when I think that I will not be felled again, I am.

I know that with the migraines...at least now I know...there will be an end.  I take the pills, turn off the lights and any sound, hold Amos against me, and wait until I can take the second dose.  I have this card I created to help me remember that the agony, the misery, will end.  It tells me that each and every time I think the medication will not work because it seems to take much longer than it should to start working.  Pain slows down time.  Pain magnifies every fear.  Pain obscures the light.  Pain twists the truth.

External.  I have come to believe that there are no words sufficient enough to fully explain just how crucial the external is...for me, at least.  The external word.  Words outside my pain and fear and confusion and doubts.  Words outside my own senses, outside my own mind. The Living Word.  His body and blood given to me.  The holy Scriptures spoken to me.  Water poured over me.  But also the words in the book The Courage to Heal.  Also the words from friends.  Also the words from brothers and sisters in Christ.  And also the words written on a card.

A card that I can hold. A card that I can read.  A card with words that tell me I cannot trust the pain, I cannot trust the misery, I cannot trust the despair.  The migraine will end.  There is a plan.  The plan works for me.

Isn't that what remembering your baptism is?  It is a wrinkled napkin you can see was once wet.  It is a piece of paper you can hold documenting what took place.  It is a candle you can burn reminding you that there is a Light that breaks through all darkness.  It is the external that gives you certitude that renders moots the darkness, the despair, the doubt, and the confusion.  It is the external that heralds your absolutely, complete, daily forgiveness.

Oh how I long for July 19th not to be just another day.  When I do not, when I cannot, who will remember my baptism for me?


Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!