
A couple of years ago, my family got the opportunity to revisit some of the old houses where I lived, as well as my grandparents’ houses. It was a fun trip down memory lane, but I realized one thing.
I didn’t get the wave of nostalgia that I was expecting. Some of the houses had changed quite a bit, but some looked the same. The difference was that the people I loved weren’t there anymore. Some have moved away, some have gone to heaven.
It wasn’t the brick and mortar that I truly loved. It was the people inside. It was the memories we made within the walls of each of the houses. Today, if I were given the chance to wander through these houses, I doubt I’d recognize very much. I’m sure a lot has changed in the 30+ years since I was last there.
Sometimes, I think I want to step into the past, if only for a moment. I just want to be a fly on the wall and revisit some old memories. I just want to see the faces and hear their stories. The older I get, the more trouble I have remembering what they looked like or what their voices sounded like.
But I’m thankful. I’m grateful for everything I learned, every experience I had in these places, both good and bad. I think who I am now was shaped by the people who lived there. I carry a little bit of each and every one of them with me.
One of the rewards of heaven will be seeing all the old faces again. Maybe they’ll all be young again. They will have all their memories back. They won’t be fragile or in pain. It will be just like old times — even better, since Jesus will be there.
I hope that the people living in those homes are making new memories. Maybe one day a long time from now, someone will drive up and instantly be able to conjure up a million scenes from the past that they can think about and smile.





