My friends make fun of me incessantly for being the sentimental sappy one, and I would be deceiving myself if I tried to deny the label.

They’ve watched me save cheap orange pom-poms from big football games, drive the long way around just to look at my favorite spots, and never fail to point out seemingly insignificant lasts.

I really don’t have room to argue their point.

I’m the one who jumped at the chance to make the 4-hour trek through every academic building on Clemson’s campus during the last week of college.

I’m the one who teared up at my own fourth grade graduation just because it felt so special to me.

I’m the one that still tries to get my siblings to play hide and seek in Lowe’s while my parents pick out a Christmas tree just because we always have.

I’m the one who thrives on tradition, looks for memories in the making, and sometimes feels things a little too deeply.

Most of the time it’s just me who feels the weight of moments, and probably rightfully so. I’ve fully accepted my role as the weird one who cried after my last college advising appointment.

But during this time of year, I sometimes feel a secret sense of satisfaction that the world and I are on the same page for once.

My sentimental heart is perfectly at home during this special season—one that seems made for tradition and memories, for awe and gratitude, for connection and simplicity.

Every year this time, we remember.

I remember waiting until Thanksgiving break to get my first peppermint chocolate chip milkshake from Chick-fil-A.

“My sentimental heart is perfectly at home during this special season—one that seems made for tradition and memories, for awe and gratitude, for connection and simplicity.”

I remember the games of HORSE in the cul-de-sac with dads and uncles and grandfathers.

I remember Grandma’s seven-cheese mac-and-cheese and Grandmama’s sweet potato casserole—and the first year my sister and I got to make the pies.

I remember waking up on Black Friday and listening to Christmas music for the first time.

I remember walking in my uncles’ weddings and celebrating the births of my cousins and loving that, even though they’re at the kids’ table now instead of me, Thanksgiving has always been the same.

I’m starting to think that much of the magic of November and December has to do with remembering.

When else during the year do we have the chance to slow to a stop and mark a moment that is solely about reflection?

When else do we put a stake in the ground at a point in time, turn around and take stock of where we’ve been, and move forward from that moment with gratitude for just how blessed we are?

I’m fully convinced that remembering is sacred.

In fact, I think my sappy self might have felt right at home with some of my Old Testament brothers and sisters.

Samuel was a moment-marker too. After a big victory against Israel’s enemies, Samuel chose a rock, gave it a name, and used it to mark the spot where they won.

He “named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far the Lord has helped us.'” (1 Samuel 7:12)

“Each feast and holiday and Sabbath and celebration of communion was an Ebenezer, one more stone of help being added to the growing memorial to His faithfulness.”

And although he might not have named his rocks, Joshua set up his own Ebenezer years before Samuel did. After the Lord miraculously parted the Jordan River to let them cross, Joshua had twelve men each place a stone in the middle of the river to “become a memorial to the sons of Israel forever.” (Joshua 4:7)

Even generations before Joshua, Jacob had a name-changing, life-altering encounter with the Lord, and before he left the place where the Lord had spoken with him, he left a rock there to mark the spot.

And as I get to know my Father more, I’m beginning to think that millennia before each of those men, He was the original Moment-Marker.

Since time began, He has invited His people to recall.

He instituted feasts and holidays for the nation of Israel that reminded them of their history with Him. He gave His church the Lord’s Supper for the express purpose of acknowledging His sacrifice week after week, century after century.

Repetition. Recollection. Remembrance.

Each feast and holiday and Sabbath and celebration of communion was an Ebenezer, one more stone of help being added to the growing memorial to His faithfulness.

Throughout the cadence of life, remembrance was the steady, constant beat that kept Israel moving toward God, that kept the Church coming back to Him, that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other.

As our hearts are full of wonder during this special season once again, I can’t help but think that our reflection might be bringing us closer to the heart of God, that He wouldn’t invite us to remember if it weren’t special to Him.

“I want to be in the habit of collecting not just pom-poms and lasts and favorite spots, but my own “stones of help”—the reminders of the myriads of ways He shows His kindness, the building blocks of a larger memorial to His goodness.”

But as my heart goes into sentimental overdrive during the holiday months, my hope is that I wouldn’t stop at celebrating my staple Thanksgiving side dishes and favorite Christmas traditions.

I want to spend the rest of the year setting up Ebenezers.

I want to be in the habit of collecting not just pom-poms and lasts and favorite spots, but my own “stones of help”—the reminders of the myriads of ways He shows His kindness, the building blocks of a larger memorial to His goodness.

I want to follow in His footsteps and be a moment-marker, celebrating His faithfulness in both the mundane and the miraculous.

And as we spend our days placing Ebenezers of our own, may we end each night saying what David said:

“When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watches, for You have been my help.” (Psalm 63:6-7a)

Ebenezer. Thus far the Lord has helped us.

“Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by Thy help I’ve come,

And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,

Safely to arrive at home.” – “Come Thou Fount”