In the past week I've had occasion to visit three spots that hold sacred memories. The first was my grandmother's house when I was growing up. I lingered over the carved paving stones, and looked out the wall of windows. My good fortune was to be the grandchild chosen to live there after she died, until her daughter could settle her affairs and move in. John courted me in that living room, and I played house by making him supper. I was not a skilled cook, but that did not deter him. 

 

The second place was the theological school. I took classes there a dozen years ago to earn a masters in Religious Studies. It was my debut of academic endeavors after twenty years with a baby on one hip. Or two. I was pleased to be able to carry a cohesive thought to completion. My curiosity in exploring the classrooms was to see my own son's name on the mailboxes for students. He is poised to become a minister as was his father and grandfather. I wept when my dad died a few months before Zack was born, but perhaps they crossed paths in the celestial halls and passed the baton for pastoring. 

 

The third was a back yard. The one where my wedding reception was celebrated. Parties were simpler in 1980. There were two score folding chairs, and card tables with carrot cakes made by my sisters, and flowers picked from a neighbor's garden. The only music was when a Ghanaian man stood on a box and sang. His voice came from a place deep inside. I remember him more than the bouquets.

 

Finding myself in those spaces of significance transported me. Time slowed down, at a season when speed is paramount. My heart swiveled as if I was in one of those revolving doors, transitioning from now to years past. It felt as if the calendar had no power.

 

Perhaps it doesn't.

 

As you step into another bundle of days that we arbitrarily label as 2019, may you find yourself in that twirling door. It stands between Yesteryear and Not Yet with only glass barriers to divide them. Is tomorrow really such a different animal than yesterday? What is more real, where we have been or where we are bound to be? I suppose as we take up residence with One Who Is and Who Was and Who Is to Come, there will no longer be any cause for tears.