Past and Present Tense
I remember sunlight through crystal paneled windows? Warm, clean, a house with nice aged polished hardwood floors and tasseled soft rugs. A billiard table downstairs, not pool table, no pockets there. A luxury of colorful interestingly well chosen books just aching to be taken off the shelves. A hauntingly beautiful emotional childhood music box that had a ballerina that would spin on a magnet on a mirrored surface. Games like chess and checkers. Horseshoes in the back yard. A pool, refreshing. Fresh lovingly made sandwiches. These, either fictional or real, are how I remember the house of my parent’s best friends Jean and Frank Wright.
When you remember, you combine the memory with living it in the moment. It is also what one does when reading the written words typed from someone’s memory or imagination, they are the past still existing through being recorded and lived as processed again.
This is a process of making our current life’s mortality more bearable, an extension of telling stories to those around us out loud. It is what we do in fiction, in movies, in theatre, in song, in ads, in photos, even in history books and measured progress of the sciences. We catch the broken pieces of what was to make something new (and hopefully better) in the present.
God is the Living Word, the scriptures tell us. It is meant to be spoken, and read from, in order to be present with us. That is the key to finding that piety that keeps us close to God in our ever needy hearts, to be in song, in prayer, and in study that re-live the past that still exists and made us who we are today.
I recall the moments of my own past in sombre tones of grey. I reflect often on what were the depressing moments of my life, and am glad that I have moved past them with such more glad tidings of the current life that I have love, love fully, and am loved. There are many things to be glad for the fortune of, not by comparing to the loss of others but comparing at what the alternatives would be for our own losses in the myriad of so many possible worlds.
I pray in my fearful moments for peace. I pray for the closeness of God. I pray that God makes everything work out for the best. This is something I have done most of my life, in moments when I remember how to address need.
It is the trust in God that has brought the peace back. It is the affirmative repetition of the knowledge of my faith, through prayers, that makes what is wished for real. It is the wholehearted dependence upon God in the times when we cannot trust human strength, in which He comes for us to comfort and console. It is the earnest humility of knowing we would have been nothing if not to glorify God and to serve Him our Creator.
I know that knowing this requires, that we know, in present and past, however long this forever of the moments last, that this is the Big Plan.
That we do live, by faith, in the best of all the worlds that are possible, in a complexity that serves our journeys toward understanding and growth, such that we can develop who we are meant to be and do to serve God.