When we go spelunking through the caverns of our personal histories, some of what we encounter may make us feel all warm and fuzzy. And some will not.
Don’t go there if you aren’t ready for what you might find.
I recently revisited my past while going through boxes of memorabilia my husband and I had hauled from house to house for decades. Before stashing the boxes on yet another basement shelf, it was time to actually look inside.
I was reminded that Memory Lane is a very dusty path.
Metaphorically “dusty” in the sense that the things we save for posterity can befuddle us later on. Joe and I kept holding up items from the boxes and asking each other, “What is this and why on earth did we keep it?”
And literally dusty, as we hacked like a couple of chain smokers from inhaling dust, mold and mummified bug parts. A Hazmat suit would have been nice.
From my old Chi Omega sorority paddle to my husband’s college notebooks full of engineering hieroglyphics, there weren’t too many items in those boxes really worth keeping, yet it was hard to throw anything away.
After all, one never knows when one might need two boxes of napkins inscribed with “Mary Ann and Joe, July 9, 1977.” They look about as fresh as an original copy of the Declaration of Independence, but they might be useful … someday … for something.
Tucked away in all that nostalgic clutter I found some small calendars I’d used as journals during high school. I decided I’d read them before tossing them out. Might be fun, I thought.
As it turned out, it wasn’t much fun at all to see some of the recurring themes of my youth.
First, insane busyness. My days and nights were absolutely packed. It’s hard to believe I ever had that much energy. I lived like a hamster on a wheel, driven to achieve and neurotically afraid of being bored, alone or quiet.
People going down the wrong path, as I was then, usually feel like living fast and loud will somehow make things better. Of course, it never really does.
The second theme that emerged from my teen journals was all-over-the-map emotions. Reading the ups and downs recorded in those journals was nearly enough to have me reaching for the Dramamine .
“I’m so depressed … a GREAT day … the worst day ever … so much fun.”
Even if it meant I could escape the 50-something-year-old body I’m currently trapped in, I would never want to go back and relive those drama-filled years again. No way.
Another theme of my youth seemed to be superficial relationships.
“It feels creepy that I don’t even vaguely remember this guy Brian when it looks like I stalked him for at least six weeks in 10th grade,” I said to my husband as I was reading the journal.
Names of guys I wanted to like me appeared and disappeared throughout my diary. I can’t even connect a face to most of them now.
Insane busyness, emotional instability, relational superficiality – maybe I would have eventually grown out of some of these teen dysfunctions no matter what path I chose … or maybe not. Plenty of people never do.
All I know is that reading the diaries has fueled my already immense gratitude for the transforming, saving, redemptive grace of Jesus Christ in my life.
I will not be throwing away these journals. Not because I want to read them again, but because every time I see them, I’ll be overwhelmed by this simple, wonderful, profound truth: I once was lost, but now I’m found.
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature …” – 2 Corinthians 5:17