When Ice Cream Attacks
by Kristen Schiffman
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“Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.
Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”
Ice cream, friend to the multitude, often stares at me with the eyes of a seasoned rival. Oh sure, once long ago Ice Cream and I got along real well. Even had our own Wednesday night dates, when I would order a delicious mint chocolate chip sundae with hot fudge and wet walnuts. No whipped cream but most certainly a cherry. Ice cream, such a fond memory for me. I looked so forward to my sundae nights and to the walks that took place during the enjoying of the sweet treat.
After my devastating break up ice cream just didn’t hit the spot with the same zest. I’d see an ice cream parlor and think of only the one I would’ve normally shared the ice cream with and down hill it all went…like a sundae sitting out in the sun.
Ice cream soon became a source of disgust for me. I’d see it and my stomach would turn. It would give me an instant headache and as much as I loved the taste of it, I knew the significance of it only hurt.
I love to ask Jesus questions and one night while lying in bed, thinking over things such as ice cream and crashed dreams, the question that kept popping up was simple: Who else will remember?
You see, for me, the only greater tragedy than actually losing this person that I so earnestly loved was to forget him. I by no means wanted that to happen. In a state of serious lunacy I grabbed a photo album, a pen and some index cards. It took me all night, right up until 5 am - but by dawn I had written every memory that went with every picture in my photo album. “There is no way," I thought, “I will lose these memories. I will never forget because I am the only one who remembers! Who else will remember what happened on our first date? Or remember the time we danced down the grocery aisle? It is only me”…and so memories became my hot fudge.
After scrawling notes to myself about all sorts of relationship things, I looked out the window and sighed. What good were memories written on the back of photos if the person I loved in the photo was no where to be found? Again, I cried, “Who else will remember?”
Moses touches me so. His life story is one for the ages and I’ve always loved reading about his journey. I love his prayer in Psalm 90; he begins it with, “Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”
It may sound bizarre but while reading the very words Moses spoke aloud with his own mouth, these two verses just took on such life to me. He is saying to our God, “You are my home. Before everything else - you were, you are, you will be.”
The Lord spoke to me loud and clear through these words. And he not only speaks a word to me but to you as well. Are you hoarding memories in baskets gathered along the way? Staying up late at night so as not to forget? Rest, child, you do not remember alone. We serve a God who has been a dwelling place forever, and before our memories were born, He was. He knows. He sees. He remembers.
Just ask Him…I am sure he would love to sit back and reminisce with you. I know He has been faithful in doing so with me…often over mint chocolate chip, hot fudge, wet walnut sundaes
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