Over the Fence

When I was a little girl, our neighbors to the southwest of us had a six-foot wooden fence surrounding their backyard. From the time I was about 10 years old, one of my missions in life was to see what was on the other side of that fence. It was more than mere curiosity that drove me; it was a mystical force of some sort that caused my friends and me to spend hours devising plans to scale the jail-like wooden bars and creating scenarios of what might lie in wait over the fence.

Eventually, when I was in my late teens, our neighbors sold their house and the new owners promptly removed the fence from the property. You can imagine my disappointment in seeing that there was nothing more than a patio with a table and chairs, some flowers and a few trees populating the land that in our childhood imaginations had been filled with aliens and prairie folk and even The Partridge Family bus (stolen of course by our neighbors who were spies).

Recently, I've been thinking a lot about that fence and about my childhood home. Losing family members and reconnecting with old friends seems to be drawing my heart toward home quite often. Perhaps it is simply that I'm growing older and getting more nostalgic as time passes. Whatever the cause, my mind in its travels homeward has paused more than once to contemplate the fence and the fascination that it held for me during my years of innocence.

I've always heard it said that with age comes wisdom, but I'm not so sure about the truth in that particular maxim. I find myself still searching and dreaming and wondering what is on the other side of the fence ... wishing that I knew all the answers and had x-ray vision to see through the boards of life. I'd like to know that there is adventure ahead, dreams to be pursued and love to be embraced.

I'm still pretty short in stature, and the fence is still pretty tall, much like when I was a young girl. And I've come to realize that while I'm trying to see over it or create scenarios for what lies beyond its boundaries, I often miss the beauty of what lies right in front of me. I'm so busy trying to figure out the future that I'm missing the present.

So keep me in today, God. Help me to look at You, to trust You and to know that whatever lies over the fence, you already hold in Your hand.

Back in Time

A couple of Sundays ago, while visiting my hometown of Chattanooga, Tennessee, I attended the church I grew up in for the first time in over 30 years. As I pulled into the parking lot, a wave of nostalgia washed over me, and as I waited for an old friend to arrive, my mind drifted back to my childhood and teen years. So much of my life at that time revolved around this little Southern Baptist church and the people and personalities that came and went through the years.

Walking into the church with my friend was like stepping back in time ... not much had changed at the church in 30 years. The sanctuary looked basically the same, and my friend took me through the back halls and classrooms where we had sat in Sunday School for so many years. I met the pastor who told me that people often spoke of my dad and the legacy he had left at the church.

I was excited to see people I had not seen for many years, but as the choir filed in, I never expected the emotion that engulfed me. Some of the men that my dad always sat with in the choir still occupied their same spots, and I could just picture Daddy sitting there and I could hear his sweet tenor voice. I could see Mom sitting in her "spot" ... she always sat on the right side of the sanctuary, about halfway up the aisle.

Tears filled my eyes and spilled over my face ... the memories that washed over me were almost too much to bear. After the service, there were more tears, both my own and those from others, as people from my past embraced me and welcomed me and invited me to come back again. Hearing stories about my parents and seeing those friends of Mom and Dad who are now elderly and feeble was humbling and bittersweet.

I left the church that morning touched to the very depth of my soul and so very thankful for the legacy of faith that my parents passed on to me. Their commitment to God and to His church and His people was real and true and lasting. They were amazing people, my mom and dad, and their love continues to bless me even years after their passing.

So, thank you, Mom and Dad, for raising me in church, for teaching me about God and His word, for trusting that I would eventually find my way to Him, and for the countless ways you loved me in spite of myself. And thank you, Alpine Baptist Church, for allowing me to be a part of you once again on a rainy Sunday in November.