Of Change and Remembrance

I really hate stories about growing up and moving on, for they always remind me that that is what I must do in life. I really hate those stories.

The first time I read Lord of the Rings, I cried at the ending, at the fact that the adventure was over and everyone went their separate ways in life. I know that’s what people do in life; I just wish it wasn’t so.

I wish with every fiber of my being that adventures and friendships didn’t end, that I could amass a network of my life. But I can’t. No one can.

The events, adventures, and friendships in my life have been wonderful, true blessings that will forever be looked in my heart. But I cannot hold on to them forever. I cannot, no matter how much I want to. Because life is meant to move on, to change as it goes. Friendships are meant to come and go, bringing with them love, laughter, hardships, fights, and so much joy. But everything changes; part of life is dealing with that change.

I’m the type of person who cleaves tightly to the moments past, who never wants to end a friendship, to let a blessing move on to bless someone else. I never want my little world to change.

But change is inevitable, I’m growing up, I’m saying goodbye to home and traveling states away to start a new life that I will have to leave again in four years. And one day I’ll get married, have kids, and grow old, all while the world continues to change around me.

I often wonder how my great-grandmother felt. She was born in a two-room house, she farmed alongside her family, and rode on horseback to get anywhere. But during her life, she would see electricity come to her town, followed by plumbing, and then the automobile. She would leave home to follow her family from her home state halfway across the country in the great depression. She would see wars fought, and her children grow up to fight in them. She would see the first man land on the moon, and the internet invented. She saw so much change in her life, how did she deal with it all?

I wish I knew, because I could really use that knowledge right now. But until I figure out how to deal with change, I will cling to the memories that I have and persevere through what I am now faced with. I will build a great library of memories in my mind and lock away those precious friendships, those hours of laughter, and the silly things we did together. I will lock away my memories of home, of my town, my family, of the things I did, and of the things I loved. I will lock away the many things that happened to me, both the good and the bad. And as I go through life, I will continue to add to that library of memories.

I guess that’s what you do; when you can’t hold on, you remember. And in remembrance you move on, move forward with the rest of the world to adventures and lands unknown.

I still hate those stories, even if they are true. But the adventures that they hold give me hope and courage to continue on after the closing of one chapter into the start of the next. Life doesn’t stop, it doesn’t go back, but it does remember. And it is in remembrance that one finds the strength with which to continue on.

Walls

I sit in a church, a gorgeous church with walls of majestic stone, grand arches of sparkling limestone, and glittering stained glass masterpieces. This church’s beauty is almost beyond description, the medieval feel and the grandeur of a castle can only begin to describe the utter beauty. This is the type of church I have always fantasied about, the churches of legend, the grand cathedrals and castles.

So why am I crying? Why does this beautiful place make me feel so sad and suppressed?

Because, now I finally realize that it is not the walls that matter, but rather what they contain.

As I sit here on this velvet covered pew, I listen to a prayer that sounds as if it has been practiced and recited too many times to be real. I raise my voice along with hundreds of others, competing to be heard over the soloist, violinist, pianist, and organ. I listen to a sermon spoken by a rotating pastor who I won’t see again for over a month.

And suddenly, I want to trade this velvet pew for the hard pew of the church I left behind. I want to trade these hundreds of people for the dozens of people at my home church who I love to talk and laugh with. I want to trade in these majestic walls befitting fantasy stories for the simple walls of my church.

Because now I know that it isn’t the walls that matter, it’s not the walls that make the church; rather it is what those walls contain. Even the simplest of walls can hide great riches, but also, the most majestic of walls can become a prison.