Yoder: Snapshots of the heart: Memories in black and white

“I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago. I will consider all your works and meditate on all your mighty deeds” (Psalm 77:11-12).

Somewhere tucked away in an old trunk are photos from another time. Another life. The trunk itself can be described in the same way. It’s an old army footlocker that once belonged to my dad. I haven’t opened it in years, but I don’t have to. When I look at the outside, I think of Dad. I think of all the good memories of him that do not live in that footlocker, but in my heart.

Times that my family did simple, memory-making things together. Just ordinary, everyday stuff that when put on a contact sheet in my mind become snapshots of a life together.

Dad’s holding a huge catfish. My brothers and I are standing by our bicycles. The three of us sitting on the front porch lined up like one salt and two pepper shakers caught in a rare moment of stillness. Easter morning dressed for church, already practicing limited movement as we pose for the picture and try not to wrinkle too-stiff clothing.

Mom and me on the day of my confirmation in our fancy dresses, fancy hair and winged glasses. Graduations. Weddings. New babies. The images come faster and faster as the years breeze by as effortlessly as crossing the threshold from one room into another.

In my memory, even the color photos are black-and-white images. They no longer belong to a particular time but have become timeless. Black-and-white photos are my favorite, which is a funny statement from someone who loves color as much as I do. After all, I’m the person who had an orange, blue, and lime green kitchen for a couple of decades.

I’m also the little girl whose very first dream was in vivid colors. A recurring dream, it was in looking back that I realized the detailed and colorful designs I created came from that dream. Years later, I ran into my grade school art teacher, who told me she made quilts from those designs, a testament to how color has always shaped my life.

Yet, there’s something very special about black-and-white images. They remove the noisiness and distractions from life. They are a hush in a loud world. They are a whisper during the rock concert of life. They are the comma in a middle of the sentence that completely changes the meaning. They are the vehicles of time travel. They are the resurrectors of forgotten lives. They cause the viewer to stop and remember another time with joy and longing.

I think of that when browsing in antique stores, spotting turn-of-the-century family photos, wondering how they ended up here. I’ve been tempted to buy the photos merely to keep the memories safe. But that’s the problem. I don’t hold the key to those particular memories. The holders of those memories are separated from the images. So I imagine other lives and other stories. But even the best imaginers cannot remember what they did not live.

Yet, I know that God preserves all memories, even those separated from their owners.

So I return to my own images; my own remembering. I look over the photos I’ve taken in the last year. There’s a theme. Family. Friends. Flowers. An important 90th birthday celebration with my mom has been a highlight. I love remembering her smile as she blew out the candles on her cake.

My brothers gathered together with Mom, me, and our families. Four generations, each one with their own memories, sharing with everyone present. Each one tucking away their own black-and-white images in their own hearts for safe keeping.

We love remembering Dad, who’s been gone almost 22 years now. But unfortunately none of the great-grandchildren remember him. They weren’t born yet. They hear the stories and see the photos from what is becoming longer ago than it used to be. But it’s in the remembering that time is no longer in charge. The remembering erases the years without and holds up the moments that are still fresh, vibrant, important and meaningful. They still bring joy, laughter, a few tears and gratitude of lives we love that no longer live in this world, but live in our black-and-white memories, which are safe in our hearts.

I look back on my own life in black-and-white images and I see something colorful that has been there all along. The one red cardinal in the white snow. The little bit of antique green peeking out from my snow-covered bicycle. The last pink daisy blooming in the garden as fall opens the door to winter and shuts the door to color.

In my black-and-white world there have always been hints of color. In fact, color has been woven throughout my life. It’s part of all my memories. It’s the love of my other father. My heavenly One. And I don’t keep it tucked away in a trunk. It’s part of the daily snapshot of my life, every single day of my life. May you know that special love.

Kathy Yoder is a devotional writer and Christian author. She may be reached at kathyyoder4@gmail.com and Kathyyoder.com.