Memories…
When I talk about growing up in Florida, I make a lot of references to ranch – which was a huge part of my life. But for about ten years, we lived off the ranch in Largo, a suburb of St. Petersburg. It was a typical, Wonder Years, 1970’s environment – a nice neighborhood for riding bikes, a Cub Scout pack that meet in the neighbor’s house, a pool in the backyard.
My children had never seen Largo – so during a recent trip to Florida, we swung several miles out of the way to show them my old schools, my old house, and my old neighborhood.
This being Florida, the streets were the same, but so many of the building I remembered were gone – replaced by more up to date strip malls. But my high school was still there – though it seems much smaller than it used to be. The same was true of my elementary school. The church were I was baptized had been purchased by School Board and converted into office space. The church were I preached my first sermon, had been torn down, and a mall had replaced it.
But the house I had lived in surprised me most – it was still there, a solid suburban ranch house, slightly modified. To the embarrassment of my children, I stopped in front of the house, got out, and went to the front door. I rang the doorbell, but there was no response.
I invited everyone to come out of the car and take a look around.
Sarah was afraid we would get arrested. Abram and Hannah decided to humor their increasingly demented Father. Gina understood my desire to look around. We walked around the side of the house, past the garage door that I remember banging back and forth during Hurricane Abby. The caulk imprints were still at the top of the chimney, where I had tried to hang a weather vane I got for my tenth birthday. The pool was still there – and the covered patio where we ate breakfast so many mornings. The house almost invited me to step through the doors and become 10 again.
Memories are odd things – they can be sticky traps, inviting you to be caught in the past, sometimes reworking in your mind choices you wish were different, sometimes showing you an edited loop of recollections, where all is sweetness and light, and all pain is gone.
The Bible is full of invitations to memory – remember how God delivered His people, remember how His mercy and grace were extended again and again, remember how He worked His plan out over years and decades.
It had been a long since I thanked God for those years in Largo – where my world opened up beyond the world of oranges and cows, where a young pastor gave an even younger high school student the chance to preach for the first time, where teachers at school and church challenged me and believed in me.
Memories are invitations to see God’s hand. Memories are invitations to give thanks that even when you didn’t know it, God was guiding your life, extending grace and mercy to you.
Remember?
