When we left New Mexico, it felt, in many ways, like a “fresh start”. Yes, we were in a pandemic, but options still felt a little limitless (barring resumes, finances, pedigree, of course). It was as though I could ask the question of my youth: What do you want to be when you grow up? And then try to fulfill the dream.
But, I felt a little disoriented in my quest for what was next. What if the things I thought I had been good at weren’t things I was good at all? Or what if what I thought I loved wasn’t something I was going to be able to do anymore? Where did it leave me? So, I asked for help.
I reached out to some older, wiser people with the inquiry, “Hey, based on what you know of me, my skillset, and passions… is there anything you’d recommend I pursue?”
Among those I contacted, one responded with a thought from the book, “The Call” by Os Guiness. She summarized his words, writing “…somewhere in childhood unlocks the door to the future. In other words, there is a memory in childhood so clear that it provides a clue regarding how God has wired us and what He has planned for us. (We may not even know why we remember this moment so clearly.)”. She encouraged me to ask God to bring this memory to mind and clearly show me what path to take.
I can’t say that I’ve been able to conjure up this exact memory for myself, but I’ve spent the last 3+ years wondering about it a bit. Believing that somewhere and somehow the past informs the present and the future. That there are pieces of my history that, now, make perfect sense in my present… and, in 5 years, will also provide clarity. The perspective of time, perhaps. The gift of catching glimpses of how things actually worked out, in some weird way, to be exactly how they were supposed to be.
I’ve wondered about this often, as I drive down the familiar streets packed with an assortment of memories. Throwing tantrums and running away into a neighborhood, away from the stopped car and my “irrational” parents. Driving by old friends’ houses, wondering if their parents are still there. Seeing the old pool, parking lot filled, remembering our attempts to get there early enough to beat the crowd. Evading one of our friends’ parents in, what felt like, a massive car chase in the middle of the night after we had chalked his car.
Growing up in Columbia, Missouri is entirely different from living here as an adult – a married adult with a small child, mind you. Attending a twenty year high school reunion has a way of bringing up and bringing together friends who knew you during the most awkward and, dare I say, selfish years of life. We laughed, caught up on life, reminisced. My heart was full, grateful for these people who had endured my self-righteous, self-absorbed antics. We had banded together, an unlikely group – playing Smash Brothers (I was always Kirby), ultimate frisbee at Stankowski Field (or from our jeeps), watching millions of movies, or attending Friday night football games.
My love of white cheese dip started at El Magueys, a frequented place of mine in the early 2000s. Show Choir practices were my early morning wake up call. Except for the year I randomly decided to try diving and my mornings began much earlier at the school across town – because they had a swimming pool. Three of us wore RBHS green and gold that year on the diving team. Bus trips for volleyball and soccer games or show choir tournaments (one on which we composed almost an entire musical score of inside jokes).
This town is sprinkled with memories – sometimes foggy, sometimes clear. And I’ve wondered if it’s less about an isolated memory, instance, or relationship and more about themes in my life that consistently emerge. A woven thread, perhaps, stitching together elements of a soul that was, is, and is becoming.
There’s a chance (a much more likely chance) that all of it actually has less to do with the soul attached to this earth and everything to do with the One who created it. That all my deeper longings and angsty moments have been telling evidence that we are, in fact, made for more.
In an ironic twist of events, I’m right back where I began. But more content than I ever was. Not because Columbia has changed drastically (even if it has), but because my perspective has shifted. Priorities have changed. The central Character has become more clear, and *gasp* I didn’t get the part.
It’s a better story than the one I began telling almost 40 years ago.
The details of my wirings are still getting figured out, and while I may not know everything about what that entails or where it will lead me, I know the purpose centers me back on the God who made me.