...The saddest thing about life is you don't remember half of it. You don't remember half of half of it. Not even a tiny percentage, if you want to know the truth. I have this friend Bob who writes down everything he remembers. If he remembers dropping an ice cream cone on his lap when he was seven, he writes it down. The last time I talked to Bob, he had written more than 500 pages of memories. He's the only guy I know who remembers his life. He said he captures memories, because if he forgets them it's as though they didn't happen; it's as though he hadn't lived the parts he doesn't remember.... Bob and God will probably talk for days. Page 1 of "A Million Miles in A Thousand Years" by Donald Miller.
Yesterday was one of those days that if I had a journal of memories, like Bob's, I would want to capture every memory, every moment, that was strung together to create this perfect day. There are no words to describe the beauty of this day. We were hedonists taking in the beauty of the creation that the Perfect Creator left as a gift for His created. And in partaking of such a feast, we enjoyed the fat of the land and I felt more alive than I have felt in too long.
