Life as a scrapbook

I'm not much of a scrapbooker.

I love taking pictures, and I enjoy embarking on trips down Memory Lane, but I'm just not so great at putting everything together in some pristine and artsy book full of cute cutouts and precious headlines. Maybe I'm just a bit lazy, but it seems like way too much time and effort to be put into creating such a page-turning collection of memories.

As a kid, I became aware that I have a strong photographic memory—I can vividly picture random and specific things just as if they are happening all over again right before me. So, perhaps that's another reason I don't make scrapbooks—I simply see these recollections easily, and that's just as good for me as cutting and pasting. There are times where this is beneficial, because it's always nice to conjure up positive parts of our pasts. But, there are also those painful or shameful moments brought back into the light—the ones that people choose to leave out of scrapbooks. After all, these books are created to make people happy. They are strictly for fond memories.

Memory: Brad Paisley concert with mom

I must say that I truly enjoy flipping through my mind's own scrapbook and reminiscing on the joys that have graced my life: running barefoot to the end of the street with my sister, because it started pouring rain, and we thought it sounded like a good idea; seeing my mom cross the finish line of her first triathlon with a huge smile on her face; driving three hours on a school night to go with my brother to a concert he didn't care for but attended just for my sake; my dad, who might be one of the most comical people alive and does everything he can to make me happy, walking alongside me at my first triathlon as I wanted to quit during the swim and yelling at me: "You're a Merrill! You don't quit! Turn over and do the backstroke the rest of the way!"; my family being there in miserable weather conditions as I crossed the finish line of the White Rock Half Marathon last December in my fastest time ever; playing outside every single day until the sun went down when I was a kid; attempting to drive my sister's Jeep (a standard) and stalling out in the middle of a busy intersection while one of my best friends cracked up in the passenger seat (my dad had to ride his bike and come pick us up from my friend's house after a stranger drove us there); growing up playing at the Frontenis courts; trying to sneak to the top of hotel roofs in high school, because my friend and I didn't go to parties; seeing my baby sister crowned Homecoming Queen; finishing a half marathon as my sister ran toward me in a bumblebee outfit; seeing my sister run toward me in the last 800 of a marathon and having her beside me as we ran across the finish line together; rollerskating with my best friend and racing the kids around us; exploring Los Angeles because I was bored one summer day.

I seriously could go on and on with my internal scrapbook. There are so many moments in life that bring joy to my heart and a smile to my face.

But, there are also times I don't want to plaster on pages: making my sister lie to the YMCA employee; having a volleyball pole fall on my head so that I had to get it stapled the day before my college graduation; any moment involving hoppers; having to move my pin in kindergarten for talking during naptime; the Sunday school excursion car wreck; the day I couldn't finish a run at White Rock because of a broken pelvis; the day I kept running an 18-miler on a broken hip; everything about September 11 and the bomb threat at our school that afternoon—they packed the entire school into the fieldhouse; dozens of secrets I've found out that I never wanted to know; seeing loved ones suffer through cancer.

I don't want to extend this list of memories any longer.

I wonder what God thinks when He sees the scrapbooks of our lives. I'll bet it brings complete joy to Him when a child of His sings praises to His name or helps another in need. I'll bet His book is full of beautiful pictures of His own—first steps, graduations, birthday parties, saving moments.

I'm so thankful that He wipes the slate clean each time I mess up in life. If not, that book would not be full of crafty cutouts with fancy scissors and construction-paper backgrounds. It would be a bit darker than that.

I know things won't always be perfect, but I don't want to dwell on the negative aspects. Am I going to make monstrous mistakes? Absolutely. But I'm not going to cut and glue them into my book. I would rather turn the page to something new and strive to overcome the bad things that will be thrown my way in life. Sure, bad things happen, and they are still important parts of our stories and help us grow, but we don't constantly have to revisit them.

Life is one oversized scrapbook, and we need to make it as wonderful as possible—even if you don't paste everything on pages full of labels and stickers.