My 80-year-old father recently replaced his flip phone with an iPhone. (He has come a long way from the day he walked into my house, picked up my remote and tried to make a call.)

A few days after he began using his new phone, I sat down and added a few numbers to his contacts.

This was the first time since he began using cell phones that numbers were stored. Prior to that, he has relied on memory to place calls.

I’m not sure I did him a favor.

If I relied on my memory to phone people, few calls would be made, and none to my youngest daughter, Victoria, or my husband, Michael.

By the time Victoria received her cell phone, I was dependent upon my phone to retain numbers, and my husband’s number changed with his new job. If I lose my phone, I will not be able to reach them, but please don’t let them know. They may be tempted to hide my phone.

Memories, and the work of the brain in storing them, fascinate me. Because I have written so much in journals, it’s not difficult to read a few lines and be brought back to the time and place the memories were made. Some memories don’t need a prompt; the original experience left a bold, indelible mark. Weddings, births, and deaths easily fall into the category of life-altering experiences, but I have many memories, formed on ordinary days, when a single prayer impacted my life.

In a church comprised of talented and gifted people, I one day looked around and slowly became deflated by my thoughts. Within eyesight were women who made their own clothes, cooked delicious meals, never relied on fast food drive-thrus, maintain gardens and didn’t unwrap Lil Debbie brownies, break them apart, and send them to school for class parties.

Overwhelmed, I prayed a prayer that went something like this.

“God, I understand why You love all of these people and I don’t blame You, they are incredible. But I’m having a difficult time wondering why You love me. I can’t keep up with this crowd so I quit trying. Please help me to be the best Ronny I can be.”

That brief moment with God altered my life and gave me the confidence to walk the path in front of me, without looking to see how far ahead others were. When I’m tempted to compare myself with someone else, it’s the memory of that prayer that refocuses my life.

And I have no guilt over not memorizing Victoria and Michael’s numbers. If I ever need them, I’ll ask my dad.

Ronny Michel may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com.