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I remember one night at a middle school youth group meeting when the question that was posed by the teacher (who may have actually been our own Scott Meyer, coincidentally) was this: If your house were on fire and you only had time to grab three items, what would you take? Many of us said that we would grab our Bibles. Lots of us said we would grab a family photo album. (Of course nowadays no one would grab these items, but instead reinstall their Bible app and recover their photos from The Cloud. (I'm old, I know)
Some asked if people counted as "items" because they wanted to make sure their family stayed intact. The practical ones chose a sturdy pair of jeans and sensible tennis shoes. The sentimental ones picked heirloom jewelry. Perhaps it was a morbid lesson for a middle school audience, but of course the purpose of the exercise wasn't meant to focus on the tragedy but rather to elucidate the things in our young lives that meant the most to us.
Barring a disaster like the one in our scenario, the closest each of us may come to facing a choice like the one above is when we move, as my family is preparing to do. As soon as our family found out that our careers would take us to a new city, we began to ask ourselves the important questions involved with such a task. What will we carry with us? What will we store away? What will we leave behind? As the physical packing commenced, we simultaneously started the process of packing up emotionally, too, by planning dates for farewell parties, last dinners with friends, and taking one long look at the time we've
spent here in Temple and at Western Hills.
Out of the time spent looking back, this letter was born. Church, if you'll permit me a few moments of nostalgia, I'd like to leave you with this letter.
The things you take with you
I will carry with me so many precious friendships because you welcomed me with open arms when we arrived in your pews three years ago. With a husband who was often working long hours at the hospital and me being pregnant for nigh unto half of my time at Western Hills, you carried me through some of the longest days, weeks, and years I have been challenged with in my life. You carried me physically,with meals brought over after the birth of my sons and outstanding nursery and children's ministry volunteers who lovingly cared for our boys so that I could listen to a sermon and be spiritually refreshed. You carried me to the Lord in prayer when I brought requests for myself or for others. You carried me through my first months and years of being a mother, with gentle advice and hugs and assurance that
his sprinting to the front of the auditorium during the sermon is probably just a phase. You have carried me, and now I will carry you. I will carry on the tradition of showering brides and mothers with gifts to prepare for joy to come. I will carry your hurts and prayer requests to the Lord whenever I think of you. I hope to carry away all the good and selfless and honest and kind lessons you taught me to my new church and to my new home.
The things you store away
Just as I lovingly packed up what seemed like four billion cardboard boxes of knick-knacks and clothes and children's toys, I also prepared great memories for long term storage. Oh, the memories we all share! Do you remember how sweet our WHY students looked all dressed up for the Sweetheart Banquet? The way the boys held out their elbows to escort the lovely ladies of the church to their seats. Do you remember how our preacher stood in front of the congregation only days after his mother passed away and preached a sermon full of hope and joy? "She will rest and she will rise," he said, with conviction that only comes from a faith that has been tested and found true. Do you remember the Trunk or Treat party at the Liles' farm last year? It was about four thousand degrees Fahrenheit on that October day in Texas, and yet we had kids and adults of all ages smiling and sweating for the sake of the young ones. Do you remember the arcade games made out of cardboard by the 56 students? The freshly baked bread loaves made each week for visitors? The Christmas parties? The home groups? The Spring tea party? The baptisms? All these memories, and so many more, I store away in my heart.
The things you leave behind
As we make our exit, I feel an emptiness inside at the thought of not seeing each of you regularly, however, it also occurs to me that we leave behind an emptiness for you, as well. The church will need a new soprano in the Praise Team rotation (and they've been begging for another tenor or two, as well), so if singing is your gift, consider this letter your call to action. In February of 2016, the Sweetheart Banquet will need someone, or perhaps a few folks, to spearhead the planning of this event. If you volunteer for this position, you won't regret it. You'll be so impressed by the way our Western Hills Youth work and conduct themselves, you'll want to do it year after year. The children's ministry will need a new worker to cover the months in which there is a 5th Sunday, although technically I forgot
almost every 5th Sunday, so perhaps they've needed another volunteer in my place all along. Last but not least, friends, please remember that we're all moving. Much like our silly middle school game suggested, this earthly home is destined to perish and we will all need to choose what to carry with us, what to store away, and what to leave behind. So I say this: Continue to carry each other, store away all the love and sweet memories you can muster, and leave behind a legacy.
Thanks for the memories, Western Hills. We're going to miss you.
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