I read a lot of Abraham Lincoln books. I can’t say enough good about him, but I have to admit that, like his law partner said, “his ambition was a little engine that never quit.” Some historians have argued that the key to his ambition was his undeniable fear of being forgotten, his fear that after his death the world would be as if he had never been. That is why he tried so hard to make a name.
One of the hardest parts about my daughter’s death is how quickly she’s been forgotten and ceased to matter. Sure, once in a while a Kristine Haglund Harris will write us a note saying that she’s been on her mind. But most days even I don’t think about her anymore. It tears me up. When she died I knew this would happen, but it still tears me up. Every post I’ve done about her was a raw attempt to make her to matter to you, and to remind me that she mattered to me, never mind the post’s gospel veneer.
This was all in the background of my mind yesterday during the sacrament when I thought about the deal God was offering us. Salvation and forgiveness are yours, He seemed to be saying, if you’ll only remember my son.