Listening to the Frogs: A Reflection on Presence and Memory

I awoke with the sound of frogs in my head. Their thunderous, croaking voices reverberated in my mind, and I wondered what it meant.

So, I turned to my pen.

It was then I wrote about the mystery of memory, and the connections our hearts make during rest and slumber. “Eyes closed, heart open,” is the phrase that spilled onto the page.

We don’t have frogs near our home, at least not the noisy ones that interrupted my quiet morning thoughts. But I felt my heart whisper, “Will you remember?”

And then the mystery unraveled into sweet revelation. My grandparents, long passed, loved frogs. Any summer we visited their home, I was always greeted by hugs, cigarette smoke, and hundreds of frog figurines. I wondered if the sound I heard all these years later was an echo of what I could’ve heard then had my mind been more open to noticing.

Maybe it was nostalgia that ushered in this strange experience? Maybe. But throughout the day, the frogs demanded to be heard. A friend shared a Facebook memory in which she captured their croaking voices on a dark winter’s night. I found a Polaroid of my father holding infant-aged me in one hand and a large toad in the other. It was as long as I was. Then, I found a frog pendant my grandmother passed down to me.

They wouldn’t accept a flippant dismissal. They wanted me to listen.

So, I stopped to listen. I wanted to hear what they had to say. I’m still listening, trying to understand, but don’t think I ever will. Not fully. What I am starting to believe is that the best things never leave us. And one day, perhaps when we need it most, they’ll nudge their way back into our memory.

I’ve been so worried about rushing through life and missing moments that matter, but something about the frogs ushered in a peaceful assurance. Those memories are being stored somewhere. I’m not sure where. Maybe our divine Father tucks them into His pocket, knowing we’ll have wished we held on, so He holds on for us.

Then He’ll pull it out and place it in our lives again. Sometimes through dreams, old photos, or the sound of frogs that aren’t actually there. And we’ll remember things and people we’ve loved. Things we’ve lived. We’ll smile, we’ll laugh, we’ll cry. We’ll be thankful it’s still there to be remembered and honored.

We’ll listen more closely to the croaking of the frogs.