Going Back

They tell you (I'm not sure who "they" is) to never go back to a house, or neighborhood where you lived years before.  I'm not sure why, but I think it's because we tend to remember nostalgically and it never looks the same as it did during those years.  "They," are probably right, but I've never been good at heeding their counsel.

For some an old neighborhood, or house evokes painful memories.  Remember the scene in the movie Forrest Gump when Jenny returns to the house of her childhood where she experienced abuse?  It's all run down and she begins throwing rocks at the house and crying.  Forest holds her and says in his pragmatic demeanor, "Sometimes I guess there just aren't enough rocks to throw!"  Powerful scene and anyone who experienced a painful childhood can relate.  But some of us are fortunate to have good memories of the places and houses where we lived in years past.

Recently I had the opportunity to drive by the house where we lived in Lexington, 23 years ago.  It was a brand new, "starter" home.  Our son was seven, and our daughter was one-year old when we moved there.  It was my first full-time position on a church staff  and we were so young in so many ways.

Despite only living there for three years there were lots of memories made in that house.  I remember our neighbors.  All of us were in our early 30's with young children.  Oh we had our share of stressors and struggles living there because I was not only trying to pastor a small congregation, but three days a week I would commute to the seminary in Louisville, trying to complete my degree.   Having a baby in diapers added to the stress.  However, I think often think about those days and how simpler life was even as young parents serving in our first church and commuting to grad school.

Our son made that place his "fortress of fun".  Countless forts were built in the yard and inside that house on rainy/winter days.  He and his friend were free to run up and down the sidewalks between houses without worrying about traffic, or weirdos.  I remember painting his room bright yellow because he wanted a yellow room.  His school teacher in Lexington was one of our favorites because she challenged him and wouldn't let him coast.  He loved her too.

Our daughter learned to walk in that house and began her toddler years.  I remember going to the corner of the room where her crib was under the watchful eye of our Chow-Chow, Benson, the best dog we ever had, something our whole family agrees upon.  I remember trying to study in that small house with a toddler banging toys and having a blast in the toy box.  Next door there was a little girl about the same age.  They loved to play together.

I remember the Christmas when I pulled into a snowy driveway and watch my wife and kids through the kitchen windows after being at the hospital for a couple who had just lost their infant son in childbirth.  I remember seeing them (the kids standing on chairs) huddled around my wife at the stove making cookies and being simultaneously overcome with gratitude to God for my family and grief for that couple.

Something called "AOL" ("You've got mail") had just started.  I didn't own a cell phone.  No one texted and people actually spent time talking together and hanging out instead of posting it on FaceBook.  Life was simpler.

Ah those really were good days.  Tough and challenging days, but good days.