Known and Remembered

A few years back, I was teaching at a high school, and our new principal and I could never seem to connect in person. He began a quest to find me. One afternoon, a colleague came by my classroom laughing. The principal had asked her, “Have you seen Den Slater? She’s like a snow leopard. You know they exist, but you’ve never seen one.”

I love snow leopards! I’ve treasured my Robert Bateman art print, High Kingdom Snow Leopard, since I was a teenager; I’ve always felt a little like that cat gazing from the edge of a frozen cliff. I was secretly delighted when the nickname stuck, and I became the school’s resident snow leopard. Somehow, I had been known even in being unknown.

A little later, I found myself needing help from my colleagues. My doctoral project called for a team collaboration to build a discipleship curriculum. That meant asking other adults for help. You know, I can talk with a room full of sixteen-year-olds all day, but adults intimidate me. In the back of my mind, I began conspiring about how to build the whole curriculum by myself, but eventually I sent out invitations.

And behold, that spring, a good handful of teachers and our principal pulled up their chairs around a table after school, bringing their dog-eared copies of Parker Palmer’s The Courage to Teach. We talked about our profession, which led us into sharing stories of our lives and our quirks with one another. One teacher confessed that she tends to fill every silence in a room. Another said she is always drawn to her quiet students because, as she put it, “I want to hear them because their thoughts are so deep.” One of the men told the story of when a coworker asked about each of his children by name, and that little kindness refreshed his heart.

I think we all long to be known and remembered by someone. Throughout Scripture, God remembers people. God remembers Noah, Abraham, and Rachel. Remembering is an act of love, a way of holding someone close even when they are far away. Paul writes to the Philippians from prison, a captive held in chains, and yet he opens the letter with gratitude: “I thank my God for every remembrance of you.” Paul remembers his friends with affection. They remain part of his life, held in his thoughts and heart. Perhaps remembering one another is a means of reflecting God, the One who always remembers us.

This week, I've been remembering my teaching friends. They gave me far more than help with my dissertation. They trusted me with pieces of their lives, and somewhere among the coffee cups and conversations, I found myself trusting them with pieces of mine. I think of them with affection, and like Paul, I thank my God for every remembrance. Maybe this is part of the good work God began in us and is still completing: we learn to notice and remember one another, even the snow leopards. Who are you thinking of right now? I pray that your remembrance brings you thanks and joy.