Boxful of Memories

I met them in 1998. It was a rough start. I was broken, hurting, distrustful, and angry.

They were kind.

And courageous.

They'd hooked a fighter. They could have cut bait and run. Instead, they fished. I'm pretty sure they weren't even planning on fishing, didn't even know they had a hook in the water. God, in his almighty providence, knew better.

That was 17 years ago. A lifetime ago. A world away. Letters, emails, cards, Facebook messages ago. Much coffee and many tears have flowed in those years. Much laughter has rung out. I have healed and grown and learned to trust and love. They have prayed faithfully and faithfully fished to land this fighter.

Last year, suddenly, shockingly, appallingly, she died. Suddenly, without any surprise, with greatest joy on her part, she went to be with the Lord she loved more than anything on this earth.

I miss her prayers. I knew, always, no matter what, that she prayed for me. I knew her prayers were gritty, real, no-nonsense conversations with the Almighty. I felt her prayers. And I miss them daily. I miss her.

This past week, her husband emailed me. The man with the searching blue eyes that saw right through my facades and pretenses and refused to be intimidated when I blustered. He baptised me in a lake in God's country. He remained steady when my world fell apart. He showed me I had value and was worth fighting for. He encouraged me to drink my coffee black. I never did get that far.

He emailed me to tell me he was moving. He was packing up, and found a box of letters - all the letters I had written over 17 years. Every one of them saved.

So we met at the Tim's where the three of us had so often met. How many memories those tables hold.... How many cups of coffee we drank there.... We shared one last cup of coffee. We chatted. It was good to catch up. He gave me the box. He gave me a hug. He told me he loved me. And we got into our cars and drove away. He had to finish packing. I had to go visit my nephew for his birthday.

I may never see him again.
I might, but I may not.

All that was left was a boxful of memories and the faint smell of his cologne on my sweatshirt where he hugged me.

And I thought, That's it? Just like that, 17 years is over? Just one small box to encapsulate 17 years of some of my biggest memories, my most overwhelming moments, my deepest changes? It's not even a big box.

It was hard to imagine. I felt like there should be tears, but my eyes were dry. My throat was tight. My heart ached. I didn't know what I was feeling. All the memories in a box.

I was driving down Guelph Line from the 401 toward Burlington. There is a place where you come out of the trees at the top of the escarpment and a panorama lies before you. On a clear day, you can see the CN Tower, a distance of at least 30 km as the crow flies. It is a massive view. (I screengrabbed this from Google Maps.) 

I haven't seen that view for a long time, because I don't come that way much anymore, and it caught my breath.  Oh, Lord, what a view, what a beauty, what a joy! In the midst of all those conflicted feelings of sadness, missing loved ones, wrestling with how it could be that what felt like such a significant relationship to me could somehow be distilled to a box of letters and a lingering scent which was quickly fading away, in the midst of all that, the world lay before me, majestic and beautiful and so very much in God's hands. I drove past the cemetery where my father is buried, and there was no pain, only a soft sadness for what had been, what never was.

And driving into that view, past those memories was when I knew that 17 years can never be distilled into the contents of a box. We are not simply getting into our cars and driving away in opposite directions never to see each other again. Even the grave cannot change what was, what is. Because knowing them has changed me.  And time, distance, and the grave cannot undo that.

That view used to terrify me. It was so big, with city stretching from lakeshore to horizon in every direction. All those people. All those millions of people. I was lost in that swarm, insignificant, invisible, unseen by even God himself. I always felt, standing at the top of that view, utterly exposed with no place to hide, and utterly unseen. I could not drive by the cemetary without feeling soul-crushing pain. Regret. Loss. Emptiness. I saw no beauty in that view, in that drive, only despair and hurt.

But not anymore. Now I saw breathtaking beauty and immense love. Now I felt seen by a Faithful Father who will never lose me in the crowd. Because knowing them has changed me. It's a change that can never be encapsulated in a box. It is a change that will last long after the smell of cologne fades from my sweatshirt. It is a change that will remain across time and distance and even the grave. It is the good work that my Saviour began in me, using them, and He will carry it on to completion.

I miss them. I think I will always miss them. I think that's normal and good.

But our relationship is far more significant than a boxful of memories.

God used them to change my heart.