I Remember: Echoes from the Past
Susan sat on the creek bank, remembering. She remembered the summer she turned 14. It was a long, warm summer filled with sunny days and the sweetness of wildflowers that grew along the creekbank where she now sat, watching the water cascade over the smooth river rocks. Her feet cooled in a stream of water flowing over a rock at the creek’s edge. Susan thought about her childhood in Cedar Creek and how her faith had blossomed there, helping her understand the world around her and her place in it. “I Remember,” she thought.
The sky above was a gorgeous, endless spread of baby blue. Time stood still, giving Susan plenty of time to reflect on the past. She had grown up in church. Her family had attended Cedar Creek Baptist Church. Susan remembered Sundays filled with the sound of hymnal pages turning and the soft glow of the sun shining through the old stained glass windows.
I Remember: Cedar Creek Baptist Church
On one particular Sunday, Susan had sat with her family on their usual pew, the fifth row from the front. Her mother liked sitting closer to the front than the back, but not too close. The fifth pew was perfect. Susan remembered running her fingers along the wooden side of the old church pew. The pews were the original ones. They had been there as long as the church itself, since 1912. Since then, someone added padded cushions for more comfortable seating, but the designs carved into the sides made each pew a masterpiece. Susan wondered who had carved the elegant design into the beautiful wood. During the service, Pastor Bob stood, his voice steady and strong but kind. He spoke about faith in a way that stirred the hearts of everyone in the sanctuary. He spoke about a faith that was, at times, fragile yet strong enough to carry people through their hardest days. The message had remained at the front of Susan’s mind long after everyone else had gone home. She thought about the nature of belief and wondered if hers was fragile or strong.
I Remember: The Storm
A week later, Susan peaked outside her window. She was up earlier than usual for midsummer. Her parents had agreed Susan was old enough to stay home alone while they worked. She didn’t have a typical summer job, but she had a pretty profitable babysitting business. The parents of Susan’s clients would pick her up in the evenings when they needed her and then take her back home. Often, she was very late getting home, but it was worth the extra money. Susan noticed the dark clouds. There was a storm coming.
Minutes later, Cedar Creek was plummeted with torrential rain and fierce winds. The whistling and cracking made Susan shiver, not from cold, but with fear. Her father had often boasted about the sturdiness of their home. The house had been in their family for generations, yet it was still as sturdy as ever. Susan’s grandparents and their parents before them had taken great care of the home. It wasn’t particularly large, but it was cozy, with a large rock fireplace and a wrap-around porch. Susan made her way to the basement to wait out the storm.
Susan was glad the basement of the home was fully finished. The thought of an old, musty, unfinished basement at a time like that was more than she could handle. She made her way into the bedroom. It was the safest room in the house, fully protected by land on three sides, and the fourth wall was far enough away from any windows or outer doors. She noticed the stash of yarn by the rocking chair near the bed. The balls of yarn had belonged to her grandmother. The basement bedroom was where her grandmother lived during her final years. Her father couldn’t bear to get rid of his mama’s yarn stash. As a young boy, he had sat at the foot of that very rocking chair many times, listening to his mother tell him and his sisters Bible stories while she crocheted blankets, socks, purses, and anything else she could dream up. Susan noticed the silver crochet hook protruding from one of the balls of yarn. She wondered if her grandmother had been the last one to touch it.
A crack of thunder shook the house so violently that Susan felt it in the basement. She missed her grandmother, who had always made her feel safe. She wiped a tear from her cheek and hoped her parents were OK. The power was out, and phone lines were down.
Susan splashed a little water from the creek onto her hot face. The sun was beaming, but the water was refreshing. She grabbed a bottle of water from her backpack and took a sip. Her memories came flooding back again.
Susan remembered another evening when she was younger, maybe 10. Her grandmother told her stories from that same rocking chair while crocheting a pair of baby booties for Susan’s soon-to-be-born new cousin. It had also been storming on that evening, and Susan was nervous. She never did like storms. Susan remembered her grandmother’s words, “All storms eventually pass, Susie. Storms are like tests of faith. Always remember that.”
Susan took another sip of water. She looked up to the sky. “I remember, Grandma. I remember.”
Susan remembered that her mother had been in the room that evening. She echoed the words of her mother-in-law. “Your grandmother is right, Susan. Storms of life can strengthen us. They remind us that we need each other and that a strong faith in God can anchor us steady through the storms.”
Susan loved the thought of being anchored. Just as an anchor keeps a boat in its place during rough waters, Jesus keeps us anchored during the storms of life.
Susan’s mind returned to the summer when she was 14, hunkering in the basement. After that storm had ended, Susan went outside to check on the storm’s aftermath. Her house was fine except for a few branches that had fallen on the rooftop and some debris from the neighbor’s yard that had blown up against the porch. Susan picked up the flower pots and the shuffled plants and took them back across the street where they belonged. Her neighbor, Mrs. Adams, met Susan at the door. “Mrs. Adams, are you OK?”
After making sure Mrs. Adams was fine, Susan walked down the sidewalks of her neighborhood. Some of the homes sustained more damage than others. A few homes near the entrance of the neighborhood suffered the brunt of the storm. Susan heard someone say there might have been a small tornado. Susan observed everyone coming out of their homes to help anyone who needed it.
Susan heard someone call her name, “Susan!”
As Susan turned, she saw her mother exiting her parents’ car and running toward her. Susan’s father delicately drove the car around the debris still in the roadway. “Susan!, are you OK? Are you hurt?” Susan’s mother turned her daughter around, looking for any sign of injury. “When we reached the entrance to the neighborhood and saw the first homes, I thought . . . I was so worried about you!”
Susan assured her mother that she was OK and that their home was fine, too. Her father found a place to park the car on the side of the street. After checking on his wife and daughter, he joined the other men already removing debris from the street. Susan and her mother joined the other ladies in the neighborhood, knocking on each door to see if everyone was OK. By the end of the day, only minor injuries were reported, and those whose homes had suffered the most damage had places to stay with their neighbors. Before the sunset, most of the people in Susan’s tight little community gathered for prayer, thanking God for his protection during the storm. Susan remembered what it felt like to grow up in that neighborhood. They were more than a community made up of homes on neighboring streets. They were a family rooted in faith.
I Remember: Family and Friends
Susan moved her feet off the rock and dipped them into the cool water. She could stay there forever, reminiscing about her past. The more she thought about her parents, grandmother, friends, and growing up in Cedar Creek, the more her mind reawakened sleeping memories. She remembered the stories her grandmother had read to her. Susan remembered the year she had taken a particular interest in the parables of the Bible, stories of kindness, forgiveness, compassion, and second chances.
Susan remembered sharing her favorite parables with her friends at church and school. Ryan, a boy in her second-period class at Cedar Creek High School, had taken a special interest in the parable of the Prodigal Son. Ryan had lived through his own prodigal seasons, driving his parents out of their minds. “It’s amazing how your faith can pull through even after you stray,” he had said, his brown eyes wide and misty as he remembered falling into his father’s arms, sobbing from guilt – no, it was more conviction than guilt. His parents had welcomed him back home with loving arms. After that, his walk with the Lord was stronger than ever. Susan remembered reading years later that he had become a youth pastor in inner-city Chicago.
One fall, when the leaves were turning in shades of gold, red, orange, and brown, Susan’s youth pastor planned a fall youth retreat in the nearby mountains. It was the most beautiful time of year in Cedar Creek. Her pastor had planned a weekend of hiking, bonfires, late-night devotionals, and heartfelt sharing. Every night, the group of 15 teens shared stories and experiences. They prayed, cried, laughed, and sang, making memories that would last them a lifetime. They didn’t know it then, but years later, they would realize that the relationships they nourished in those days, the memories they shared, and the spiritual growth they fostered together laid a solid, strong foundation for unshakable faith as they grew into adulthood.
One Door Closes. Another Door Opens
Susan took another sip from her water bottle, reflecting on the spiritual truths she had learned in those years, truths she protected in her heart as she entered adulthood, married, and moved away with her husband from the place she would always call home. Susan heard footsteps behind her. Steven placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to go? Your parents’ house is empty now, but we have time for you to go back through the house if you want to one last time before we hand the keys over to the new owner.”
Susan’s eyes were misty from the grief of losing her parents, both of them in the last 5 years, from having to sell her childhood home and from knowing she would have to say goodbye to Cedar Creek again, this time without knowing when she might ever come back. They would be back in their mission field in Africa within the next few months.
Susan looked up at Steven as he reached for her hand. He helped her up from the Creekbank. She slid her sandals back on, and they headed to the car. “No, I don’t need to go back. It will just make it harder to leave. Besides, I’ve already said goodbye.”
Steven opened the door of the car as Susan slid into her seat, her baby bump making it harder for her to get up and down. She placed her hand on her tummy. “I’m glad the baby will be born before we go back to Africa. It will be a lot easier to travel with her outside the womb than inside.”
“I hope so.” Steven wasn’t so sure. He imagined all the baby cargo that would have to go with them.
As Steven drove the car away from the creek, onto the roadway, and headed out of town, Susan looked at the little basket she had placed in their car when she walked out of her childhood home for the last time. The balls of yarn smiled back at her in shades of soft pinks and purples. Her grandmother’s silver crochet hook protruding from one of the pink balls. Susan smiled, appreciating the memories of growing up in Cedar Creek with parents, a grandmother, friends, and a church family who had taught her to love Jesus and love fiercely. She patted her tummy, looked up to Heaven, and whispered, “I Remember.” Then, as a tear spilled from her eye and rolled down her cheek, she said to her little growing bundle of joy, “Hey you. I’m going to make you a blanket with your great-grandmother’s hook and her yarn, and I have a lot of stories to tell you.”
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