So I just unpacked my last box. Yes, I am aware that said box is being unpacked 3 months after the first box was unpacked. Maybe it was lack of time, lack of desire, lack of complete commitment to San Diego, combination of the three, but apart from some needed minor decorating touchups, I am officially a San Diegan.
Before you judge me for taking a quarter of a year to move in, understand that this was not any ordinary box. It was actually a bin, a rather large bin, filled to the brim with photos, letters, mementos, etc. Essentially my entire childhood and adolescence were compiled and contained in this bin. I knew I'd need to go through every item in the container eventually... it's a project I haven't just delayed for 3 months... it's been waiting for me since I moved to VA 4 years ago.
There are two types of movers in this world. Dumpers and Keepers. Having moved 5 times in the last year I have very much become a dumper. Particularly my move from VA to CA. When everything you own has to fit in the back of your Toyota Corolla with enough room for you and your driving buddy to not be completely squished, you are forced to make decisions as to what is truly important to keep. Growing up however, I was most definitely a keeper. Hence, my parents decided to contain my keeping to this bin.
I could go into detail about what I found in this box and how these findings made me feel, but as you know, I tend to be a rather longwinded writer as it is- so that will be a later conversation for a later day. Instead, I am going to jump to my conclusion.
I have concluded that my past is composed of lots of pieces of “ehh.” There are some things that make me laugh, some that make me cry, some that make me ask myself “why?” Some that make me angry, some that make me smile, some that make me question if my life’s been worthwhile. Ok, I’ll stop talking like Dr. Seuss. You know what’s funny about the past? Even though you were there, it totally looks different than you remember it. Often it is less dramatic than you remember it. The world somehow did not end when Tommy asked Susie to the dance instead of you, or when your mom didn’t allow you to go to the party that every other cool parent let their kids go to. Sometimes it is more dramatic than you remember. You start to realize that family behaviors you used to think were totally normal were a little bit weird. Or you realize that an innocent child memory has a significantly deeper truth behind it.
The crazy thing is, as random and “ehh” as the pieces of my past are, they somehow all fit together kind of beautifully. They tell a story of who I am and how I became that. As I look back through pieces of my past, I’m starting to understand that God actually did know me, really well, even before I knew myself. (Read Psalm 139) Every decision I have made, whether good or bad, has helped make me who I am today.
I am so glad I saved this box for last, because it reminded me all over again why I am a keeper. I love stories, and I am so grateful that I have a way of reading my own. I’m so glad I kept pictures from what my sister and I like to call, “the awkward years.” (pimples, braces, horribly unfortunate taste in clothing and hairstyles) I’m so glad I kept awkward love letters and diary entries. I’m glad I kept encouragement notes and birthday cards, even though I don’t remember who some of these people are… at one point in my life, Becky G wished me a very happy 14th year of life, and somewhere along the way I helped a Sally grow closer to God, and this makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Even though some of these memories make me crinkle my nose or wish I could go back to that moment and re-do it, collectively, they tell me where I’ve been. More importantly, they tell me where I’m going.
I am all for de-cluttering, but when it comes to your past, I strongly encourage you to be a keeper. Even if it’s ugly. Even if it hurts. Even if there are a million things you have done differently. Keep it. You know the argument that you should let go of the past because you don’t want your past to define you? I disagree. Let it define you, but let it be a working definition. You are not just your past. You are your past, present and future. God did not just write your story up until now and then stop. And He’s not writing your story starting with today’s perfections. Your story needs a beginning (past) middle (present) and an end (future). And while separately, each piece may seem “ehh”, when you put them together, that beautiful mess becomes a beautiful story.
This blog probably has the longest title of any blog I've ever written, but I think it summarizes how I feel. I could easily rabbit trail on this subject for a few more pages, but I will spare you the ever so long train of thought running through my head. What I want to leave you with is this.
1. You were not an accident. There is a reason God chose to make you, and there is a reason He chose to make you the way that you are.
2. You have a story, and it isn’t waiting until something “significant” happens to start. You’re life is already significant, and your story has already started.
3. What we see as random pieces of "ehh", God sees as a perfectly designed masterpiece of "whoah." If you give God your past, present, and future, rather than trying to erase or re-write, I promise you that you will never be disappointed in your story.
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