I really love my mom. And my dad. And my brother.
It was odd going back to the church that I grew up in. I rarely make it back to the old stomping grounds, much less to good ol’ Evangelical Bible Church. The phrase, “the more things change the more they stay the same” felt incredibly apt.
Seeing and hearing about kids that I grew up with who have been married (divorced even) or are getting married, who now have a couple of kids, who live all over the nation. To strike up a conversation with someone that always seemed so cool to the youth in the church, only to see him try to talk about the latest goings on in my life (where I live, if I have a family, etc.). And then there were those that I wanted to talk to, but never did because I knew full well that any conversation would have been an acute exercise in awkwardness for both of us.
Not too long ago, I would’ve been depressed by it all and allowed myself to get swept away on a wave of nostalgia. Now I’m just bemused by the whole thing, accepting separation and distance as parts of life. Not good. Not bad. Just life.
I’m glad I’m not the person that I was when all of us knew each other. Sure, looking back, those seemed like innocent times, and maybe they were, relatively speaking. But it was also a more limited and limiting time, with more limited experiences, responsibilities, and awareness of the world’s workings.
Catch me in 10 years, and I’ll probably say the same thing about now.