There are a number of occasions when young people approach me in the street greeting me as if I was one of their family members. The only problem is that I have no idea who they are. There could be a twenty minute conversation, quite engaged as a matter of fact, and I would spend that entire time wondering what on earth this person’s name was. On the other hand, if I remember their names, their looks of incredulousness are only surpassed by their looks of gratitude. It truly is a wonderful feeling to be remembered. They sense their value and worth.
I used to chalk up remembering names to my job-description as a pastor. I was successful most of the time, but failed miserable some of the time. I used to jokingly blame it on all the blows to the head that I took playing football. But deep inside, I knew that I really didn’t try hard enough. Oh, I had a million excuses—busyness, too many names to remember, old age, whatever I could think of, I’ve used it. But again, they were only excuses. I’m still working on it. And I’ve given myself permission to fail at times. There is only solace, however, because I do put a great deal of effort to remember not only their names, but their value and worth.
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