I remember the days of summer as a child. They always arrived with a Christmas-like anticipation. No school, lots of friends, trips, pools, fun, summer. I could always tell it was coming as the days got longer; the sun taking longer to set to ensure my day, my special day, could go on for as long as possible. I enjoyed the evening hours the best because I think that is when it was suppose to be dark. But summer knowing how restful and special it is, made sure that the sun maintained its course just a little longer so I could continue to frolic in its light.
My memories are like a kaleidoscope of images, all changing and melding together. Rolling down a hill at one of my favorite parks. The hill seemed so long and so steep, but I am sure if I were to see it now I would be surprised how tame it is, oh but what fun. I remember myself swinging as dusk turned the sky arrangements of oranges, pinks, reds and purples, even then I smiled at its beauty. I think no matter our age we appreciate the beauty of nature, as it speaks to that piece of divinity inside each of us, that handprint of God referred to as the imagine of God. The creative impulse of God in the universe seeing the creative impulse of God within us, and in seeing one another smile to each other, that evening sky smiles to me even now as I smile back. There was one time I swam all day long in the ocean, battered by the waves, imagining I was some superhero that had to battle these awful waves to the point of exhaustion. I remember that night as I tried to go sleep I still felt pulled and pushed by waves now miles from where soon I slept. Times with friends, the sleepovers, the ease, the joy, the carefree mentality of youth and relative innocence. All of these images and thoughts pour across my memory not quite separate from one another, but a mess of memories that form one large memory entitled, summer.
I once read somewhere that memories are special because they represent the past, and the past is the only thing that cannot change. Perhaps our memories do not correspond to actual events. Maybe they are formed by our imagination, but they cannot be touched. Our present is happening and will change at a moment’s notice, our future is beyond our grasp, but our past is always our past and is unchangeable. There is no wonder we tell stories to one another, for those stories are unique to us and incredibly precious. Summer is such a past for me, and I am delighted to sense summer’s arrival once more so that I may recall such a past.
My delight is made all the more real in that now I can share my summer with my son. It is with great joy and anticipation I look forward to being able to share a summer with him. While he will not remember this one, I will, and this summer – while not yet here – shall become a unique memory, a past truly my own, untouchable and unchangeable. I pray that the moments when I push him in the swing, mold with my moments of being pushed in the swing by my father, and my kaleidoscopic memory becomes even grander.
We live in moments, but those moments become memories, and each of us has memories of joy and strife, of love and heartbreak, of hope and despair. How we use these memories says a lot about us as people. I hope I may find myself using memories to give me a smile when there seems to be no reason to smile in the moment, because no matter how bad the moment is, a memory of joy cannot be touched by it. However that memory of joy can affect the moment in a positive way.
I remember many stories my parents shared with me of their summers. Their memories of such summers exist in times long before God blessed me with life, but I remember the joy they conveyed, and I can see in my own memory my mother swimming in a pool as girl, my father riding bikes and setting bushes on fire. They have combined with my memory and my joy expands. Hopefully one day Langston has an impossible memory of his father laughing while rolling down a hill in a park. If he does I am sure he can have a memory of an empty tomb and know the joy of our Christ. May God grant us all the ability to share the joys of our past so that others can experience such joy and have it as their own!
Riding the wave of the Holy Spirit,
Garrett
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