Somebody in my office wears a rubber band around their wrist as some sort of memory jogger. I don't know them well enough to ask why, but it reminded me of something from ancient college days.
I first met God personally in college. I had a true "conversion experience" on December 10, 1978, when He made Himself known to me as a real Father Who really knew who I was and loved me. I reacted like any college student; I bumbled around trying three things at once. I went to daily Mass for awhile at the student Catholic center, but backed away from the over-friendly people; I read and read and READ (but I didn't think to pray and pray and PRAY); and I brought up the topic of religion among my friends, all of whom with me were science majors.
Oddly, all my closest college friends were either Catholics or Jews, some quite devout. We ended up having some rip-roaring discussions (although in college, everything gets rip-roaring at one point or another). One girl, trying to keep her walk of faith present to her daily, did something to make her aware; she turned the first cigarette around in her pack so it faced up. Every time she looked in her pack for a cigarette, she saw the reversed cigarette and tried to thank God.
(Please control your retching about the cigarettes; we ALL smoked then, everywhere. Times have changed, my children.)
In the domino effect of memory, this reminded me of another trick my second grade nun taught us. Put your shoes way under the bed before you go to sleep. Then, when you get up and get dressed, you have to look for your shoes. When you get down on your knees to fish them out, pray while you're down there. A sweet memory. Thank you, Sr. Willia.
What do you do to keep yourself mindful of Him?
And He Wasn't Even on a Plane
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