too much

This week, the architecture firm that I work at has been conducting annual performance interviews for every employee. Really, it is purposefully a semi-casual environment that everybody dresses ├╝ber professional for (i.e. guys in ties and/or sport jacket and ladies ... who knows). I have been at this firm for many years now (since my senior year in high school), and I have spent time with all of my reviewers (4 in all!), so there was no point in being nervous.

So we were sitting and chatting waiting for the last reviewer to join us. It started, it ended, no biggie.

One of the last questions asked me was how do I rate my performance over the last year ... well, half year. My answer: I feel sluggish because I am only working 30 hours and the market is a little slower. It probably seems much more slow to me because I am more accustomed to running than walking - working overtime and rushing to meet project deadlines than having time between tasks and taking off Fridays.

The K of RVK (where I work) corrected me. He said that my six month vacation was no vacation; it was a sabbatical. The best thing that I could have done for myself was going to India. I was at work too much and doing school too much. I thought about adding in church to the short list, but figured it would not help my cause. He then said that I had no life.

That was true. I am working on discovering what having a life looks like. it may mean hanging out with friends - like eating dinner, or enjoying not having something going on every evening after work, having time to volunteer at Habitat for Humanity, or (possibly my favorite) deciding and following through with a wonderful afternoon nap. Currently I am sitting outside at a friend's house watching and playing and loving their dogs. Sitting in the sun is good. Breathing is good. Life is good.



Part 1: My sister passed on an email that one of her friends sent her. Essentially, her military friend oversees had a conversation with an airman that was stationed in San Antonio at Lackland AFB. (He wants to go to a Spurs' game as soon as he gets back home.) The part that my sister's friend knew would be of interest to her, and thus to me as well, was that this airmen stationed far away from home knew and had worked with my dad.

"I thought you'd like to know that he is being remembered over here." It is very cool and special and some other emotions that I am not sure really what they are.

Part 2: My dad's old Sunday School class commissioned a sculptor in our church to have an altar cross made in memory/honor of my dad. It is a beautiful cross. (Thanks Mike, you did an amazing job).

My point in all this bragging of sorts is really a question. Why is having a dead loved one remembered by others (and yourself) important to us? They are no longer here; their body has begun decay, burned to ash, or (as I desire) played with/on by medical people. Why is memory something that surpasses this and goes to the heart of it all?

I have a hunch it is at least something to do with wanting to be an impactful people and not wanting to live a life that is purposeless in the end. Or maybe memory is one of those God attributes that we are given to illustrate that God never forgets.