Traveling Nostalgia...

Writing again?  Yes, yes, it's true.  All this down time as school is out and camp is over and I'm recovering from a sore throat has given me a lot of time to think.  And since I'm trying not to spend every waking moment on facebook, I resort to spilling my thoughts into my blog.

Today I pulled out the journal in which I wrote during my post-college backpacking trip across Europe.  I flipped to June 22 and found that at this time four years ago, it was our last day in Mittenwald, Germany.  Mittenwald is a tiny winter skiing town in the Alps, right next to Austria.  It was a little haven, seemingly untouched by consumerism and the downsides of modernity.  Mittenwald was our happy accident, and one of the highlights of our trip.  When we walked onto our balcony, this was our view (well, except I was not always sitting there):

This is where we rested up and recharged our batteries for the last leg of our journey.  We rented bikes in this little town and biked through the countryside and into Austria, feeling a little bit like we were in The Sound of Music.  Our hearts were light, pedaling and singing and smiling.

May I share some other tidbits with you?  I found another section in my journal in which I describe the perfection of Rome at night.  Rereading it, I could feel the cool breeze on my skin, see the full moon beyond the shadowed olive trees, and smell the night-blooming jasmine.  I could remember the contentment as the four of us settled into the little plastic chairs outside our cabins, ready to play cards and not quite ready to say goodbye to another day in Italy.  But I threw a coin into this fountain, so it is written that I return one day:

And then the closest thing I've come to heaven: the Cinque Terre.  It didn't matter that we four were sleeping in a 9 x 9 tent with our feet propped up on our luggage.  It didn't matter that I left my glasses there in the bathrooms far from our campsite.  It didn't matter that I had an asthma attack hiking the cities.  This was the most idyllic, pristine section of Earth that I've ever seen.  The water was more blue than any blue I'd ever laid my eyes on.  We walked the steep, narrow, crumbling steps through vineyards teetering on cliffs, hundreds of feet above crashing blue.  Each view was more breathtaking than the last (literally):

At the tail end of our journey, we took a few day trips.  One day we went to Normandy Beach.  I stood on the sand upon which hundreds of Allies gave their lives to help end WWII.  It was remarkable.  Then we went in search for the D-Day museum and got lost on the winding country roads, and nearly had to hitchhike back to our bus.  Then the next day was the 4th of July, and we went to Monet's gardens at Giverny.  When we returned, the four of us felt quite depressed, as naturally the French do not celebrate the American Independence Day.  So I drew a very rudimentary American Flag on a piece of paper and held it up.  From the un-air-conditioned attic room of the hotel in Paris, we raised our voices in a harmonized "Star-Spangled Banner."  And as dusk settled over Paris and we tried to stay cool in the blazing heat, this was my view:

This little "walk" down memory lane is borne of my very intense desire to travel yet again.  There is just something in me that must see the world.  I would visit each of these places again, but I have many others on my list as well.  Hopefully, Israel will be my next trip, next summer.  I have been reading Worldliness, edited by C.J. Mahaney.  In the last chapter, Jeff Purswell writes that "If creation is both God's witness and gift [and it is], we have the dual responsibility of studying and enjoying the world around us.  Such activities are part of what it means to glorify God as his image bearers."

I see what he means.  During my trip I saw through the sin, the modernity, the rush and rubble and could see the parts of God's creation that he would have called "good."  And I had no choice but to praise the Creator for the beauty He'd created, and long for the beauty of my heavenly home, which will be far greater than even the best of what I've seen so far, or I'll ever see.

PS, all of these photos are indeed mine.  Should you have any interest in the rest of the pictures from this journey, they begin here: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2004374&id=163800206&l=8b28468d5f

Likes Sands Through the Hourglass...

I'm just going to warn you now that this post is a little odd and emotional.  What can I say-- I've been a little "off" in my blogging as of late.  Probably because I feel just a little "off."  Even so, this is what's on my mind.

I long nostalgically for my childhood with the same feeling I get when one of my favorite somethings is running out.  When I know that, say, my favorite perfume is running low and I can't replace it, I get this melancholy feeling of inevitability that makes me savor every last spray.

I get this same feeling when I look at old family photos or watch my parents' old movies.  I used to worry about the fact that I had this weird sadness while watching their bizarre and hilarious movies.  They were fantastic, but the pit of my stomach would wrench a little, feeling like it's all... running out, like the last sprays of my favorite perfume.  I'd think, If they were that young once, how did they get older so fast, and how fast will the rest go?

Looking back on my childhood, I remember the "feel" of it all-- the comfort of home, the security of family, the hilarity of memories, and the joy of youth.  When I'd get that odd wrenching in my stomach, I used to think that it was regret I felt, regret about the way I treated my parents and brother and regret for what I had and hadn't done.  Maybe that's part of it, but I think more than anything I look back at all the time I had ahead of me, the time I spent with my family, and the opportunities I experienced, and what I feel is a wish for more.  I wish for more time with my family, more daily interaction with my parents and brother, more growing time and learning time in that house.  But I grew up.  I left that house.  It's going too fast, and it's all... running out.  Even now I type with tears-- hard to explain, but very, very real.

This is a feeling I wrestle with, but I couldn't quite pinpoint it until this afternoon, driving home from work.  Side note: what is it about that short drive home that causes me to think so deeply?  The sudden absence of adolescents?  The sudden freedom?  Regardless, I realized today the reason for my nostalgic melancholy... and I found the silver lining, too.

While it's true that time flies and it is all running out, that which is running out (time with loved ones, memories to make, lessons to learn) will exist in endless supply someday in heaven.  The good, enduring things I love about this life and the people in it will continue in heaven, only with a surefire God-focus.  Earthly time is running out, but my eternal life is waiting.  I've got something to look forward to.