Yoder: Do You Remember Me? A Journey of Faith and Friendship

By Kathy Yoder

“Remember the days of old, consider the years long past; ask your father, and he will inform you; your elders, and they will tell you” (Deuteronomy 32:7).

Memories are like heirlooms, passed down through generations, cherished and polished by time. But what happens when the hands that hold them tremble, when the stories slip through the cracks of a fading mind? When Esther, a dear friend from my writing group, wrote, “Do you remember me?” her words stirred a flood of memories—laughter, stories, and faith woven together in our shared journey.

Yes, Esther, I remember you. You were a pillar in the writing group I led for several years. We gathered to pen devotions, family stories, and prayers, each meeting a tapestry of words and hearts. You were always there, notebook in hand, your assignments completed with precision and care. We explored questions that stretched our faith: Who am I in the story of the Paralytic? Am I Mary or Martha? What if the shepherds lived in the 21st century? We wrote poetry, stories, and prayers that lifted our spirits. We also retold Bible stories, placing ourselves in the sandals of disciples or in the fields of Bethlehem.

Through every sentence, we became more than a group—we became friends. I was the “young” one, while you and others, many retired educators, teased me with a playful, “Teacher, I didn’t do my assignment!” But you, Esther, never missed a beat. Your stories brimmed with common sense and wisdom; your faith was a quiet anchor. If I close my eyes, I can still see everyone’s smiles, wide as a summer watermelon, lighting up the room.

I remember your 80th birthday party, a celebration as vibrant as you were. Your daughter, a teacher like you, planned every detail with precision and love—two parties, in fact, because so many former students, friends, and family wanted to honor you. You stood beside your beloved husband, Bill, who played his harmonica with a twinkle in his eye. The room buzzed with stories of your life: decades of teaching, mentoring, and serving. But what struck me most was your faith—80 years of unwavering devotion to God. It wasn’t just the years; it was the depth of your trust, the way you lived your faith through every season. That realization settled in my heart, a reminder that a life rooted in God endures beyond memory’s reach.

Your Bill went home to the Lord a year later. Your letter, Esther, arrived a couple years after that. Like a whisper from those days. “Do you remember me?” you asked, listing reasons I might recall you. But you only needed one: you were my friend. Your words also carried the weight of the “Long Good-bye,” the slow fade of memory that others call Alzheimer’s. Yet even in that shadow, your faith shone through. It inspired me to write this poem for you:

A light once pierced the darkness, now dimmed, I cannot see.
My mind’s a locked-up prison—who holds the key for me?
I try to recall my story, through memories thick like glue.
Do you remember me, dear friend? God knows my heart is true.

They call it the “Long Good-bye,” a slow and mournful fade.
Each day I lose a piece, yet God’s love will not evade.
I try to find my story, through shadows dim and few.
Do you remember me, dear friend? God holds my heart so true.

He’s walked with me through decades, my guide through joy and pain.
His hand will lead me homeward, where memories bloom again.
I try to trace my story, of Bill and love so true.
Do you remember me, dear friend? God keeps my heart in view.

In Heaven’s radiant chorus, I’ll join my husband, Bill.
With teachers, saints, and stories, where faith and love fulfill.
I try to hold my story, of all the life I knew.
Do you remember me, dear friend? God’s love will see me through.

The poem is my offering, Esther. It’s my way of saying that your life—your faith, your stories—matters. I think of Psalm 139:16, where it says God has written every day of our lives in His book before one came to be. Even when we forget, He remembers. Your lifelong years of faithfulness are not lost; they’re etched in His eternal story.

I think, too, of our writing group, how we wrestled with questions of faith. We imagined the Kingdom of Heaven as a garden, a banquet, a home. For you, Esther, I picture it as a classroom, where you and Bill teach and play music, surrounded by friends and students. I see you telling stories, your memory whole, your heart full. That’s the hope I hold for you, for me, for all of us who fear the fading of our minds: God is the keeper of our stories.

Your letter reminded me that faith is not just in remembering but in trusting. You trusted God throughout your life—through teaching, raising a family, loving Bill, and writing stories with us. That trust is your legacy, a light that shines even in the “Long Good-bye.” I thank God every time I think of you, Esther, because your life points me to Him.

Yes, Esther, I remember you. And when memories falter, I rest in this: God remembers us all, holding every moment in His hands.

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer and Christian author. Reach her at Kathyyoder4@gmail.com or Kathyyoder.com.