“You have 41 saved messages,” chirped the friendly little drone who lives inside my cell phone. “Your message box is full. Please delete your messages to leave room for new messages.”

It is nice to be reminded that that’s life: an ever flowing stream of new poignant moments.

As we left the church parking lot after a meeting, I had given my cell phone to my daughter to retrieve a message for me since I was driving. “Forty-one messages!” my daughter scolded. “Why are you keeping them?”

Why indeed. As I listen through them later with the intention of deleting most, along with numerous routine ones from my husband just saying “call me,” there are precious slices of life long forgotten, now serving like an audible diary.

“Happy birthday, Mommy,” says a sing-songy voice, “I hope you are out having dinner, or something fun like that. I’ll call you later.” Who could delete such a sweet reminder from a birthday past? It’s like throwing away a child’s homemade birthday card.

“It’s Dana, from Dr. Roussells’ office. Your mammogram came back just fine.” That’s a message that is always a welcome relief.

“Hello everybody, happy Thanksgiving, have a great time at Michelle’s,” goes another message. That would be from my sister, the year we descended on our newlywed daughter and her husband in their townhouse where seven people and a dog were about all that small space could handle.

“Hi, this is Jim from Monger’s Lumber, responding to a question about the blinds inside your windows.” Oh yeah, that was the stressful, busy week of Michelle’s wedding when the blinds decided to quit working, just when you want everything to be right.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me, just getting on the road. I hope to be there by 4:30 or so.” That would be middle daughter, living 8-9 hours away at the time: eight hours that were always too long when we were waiting for her arrival home. And the time for her to head back down that long road always came too soon.

“Hi, Mom, I’m calling you now, because we have the Vienna Boys Choir tonight, and I’ll be busy all evening, and I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday,” from the daughter who works for a symphony where hearing the Vienna Boys Choir, Itzhak Perlman, and Yoyo Ma, are all in a day’s work.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me, I’m just calling you to let you know that we got here fine, and that today is a beautiful day, the water is so blue, the water is perfect, I’m so excited, Wheee!” a daughter’s enthusiasm at her beach vacation still makes me happy, too.

“I’m laying here in Pert’s yard, in a hammock, with a book, and a cat on my lap.” For this daughter, this was nothing short of a description of nirvana.

“Tell Momma that we’re thinking about her and praying for her as she’ll be on the train tonight, hope she gets home ok,” from my sister, as I was getting ready to put mother on the train for a 15-hour overnight trip home. “Love you guys.”

From newlywed daughter, “I’m cooking your lasagna tonight, and wondering how long I should cook it, what temperature, and whether I should leave the foil on it.” These calls come less frequently now.

Indelible moments? Not really. Since I had forgotten most of the specifics of these moments, if I delete them, the memories will soon be gone, too, except for the ones I’ve preserved here. Practicality reigns. I must delete some messages to leave room for the new memories that will surely be stored here, too. I can’t go on hoarding them forever; that is impractical, even extravagant. Life moves always forward, hence we always need to be open to new memories. But it is nice to be reminded that that’s life: an ever flowing stream of new poignant moments.

Have any special cell phone messages you’d like to share? Post them at http://www.thirdway.com/talk/?Topic=AW or send to Another Way, Box 22, Harrisonburg, Va. 22803.