Déjävu... all over again

Memories are odd things and flash-backs are even stranger to me. I find that the more I travel, the more it happens. I will walk down a street or through a corridor that seems oddly familiar and suddenly I can see in my mind’s eye, an entire story play out - a story I lived once upon a time. Sometimes I am conscious of it… other times it is there, but less obvious - sort of de' ja vu.

I realized the other day that I have spent a lot of time in the Atlanta airport, more than seems appropriate, seeing as I’ve never lived near Atlanta. On Friday, I was on the escalator, heading to the rental car place when I was suddenly seized with a desire to take off running for gate B12. It took me a second to remember the whole incident, but the memory came back all too vividly. It was the summer of 2007. I had been stuck at the Glynco jetport for hours, thinking I would get stuck there overnight and miss a family celebration back at home. The storms passed and I was able to get the only flight out that day, but was told if was very unlikely that I would make the connecting flight in Atlanta. I was pretty determined to get home that night. I prayed the whole way and ran like the wind through the airport, making record time and arriving at gate B12 just as they were about to close the door. They let me on - I was the last passenger to enter the fully-booked flight.

Upon reaching the lower level, I picked up my pace, quickly walking through the terminal and was suddenly transformed into a 16-year-old girl in a floral and lace dress, carrying a suitcase and a pillow. It was the first time I was striking out on my own - I did not yet own a rolling suitcase, so I was quickly tiring of carrying my heavy baggage, and while excited, was very apprehensive as I tried to figure out the maze that was this massive airport. The tram was being built (or maybe just renovated), so I had to walk the whole way. It took me almost a half hour to walk from one end of the airport to the other (it always seems to work out that my connecting flight are always on the opposite end from the gate where the first plane pulls in - that much has remained the same for me over the years).

This walk through memory lane continued as I followed signs for the exit. I saw shops and kiosks that I remembered seeing through tears that blurred my vision as I had tried to hold back the emotions that choked me only months earlier when I wanted more than anything to return west to the Soldier I had just left - a boy I loved more than life itself and yet wondered if I’d ever see again in this life.

Each memory was so vivid, and yet so different from one another and from this current journey. What does it all mean? Nothing, really. Having been thinking of these times gone by, re-living them, even, I thought I’d write about it because it’s what my mind keeps returning to. Writing helps me put things away on some mental shelf and move on.

The Journey Continues

Nine years ago, I was standing on the beach looking back at the footprints I had left in the sand. It was early morning and very cold, so I was the only one out there. As I stared at the footprint, I thought about the path I had taken that brought me to the that place in my life. I wanted to cry. My teen years were gone, the future I envisioned for myself was nowhere near what I wanted, and the only mark I had left in the world were the prints in the sand before me.

So, nine years later, another birthday arrives. I am nowhere near where I expected to be, but I am much more hopeful. Although currently jobless and once again unsure of my future, I am amazed at the ways God has worked in my life. The experiences of the last few years have been more than I ever would have dreamed of. I have been touch by the lives of many, and have in turn touched many lives. I am learning slowly that I can trust God with my life - my future - my hopes and dreams.

Here's to the last year of my 20s... let's hope it's a good one!

For Grandpa

It's been a little over a year now since I lost my Grandfather... As most of you know, I was in Iraq at the time and was informed via email. Since I could not attend the memorial service, I stayed up almost all night after hearing the bad news, writing a poem that C. read at the service for me. It was hard to go back to the States, knowing he would not be there. I thought that it would be easier once we got through all the holidays, but I still miss him every day, and especially when I go home to visit my family. As was thinking about him yesterday, I remembered the poem I wrote last year. Re-reading it, I was reminded of how much I have to be thankful for. I have so many great memories with Grandpa. I will carry those with me forever.

Here is the poem I wrote that night in Ramadi a year ago:

What are ya doing, Grandpa? I want to do it too.
I want to be like you, Grandpa, I want to be like you.

Do you need a hammer or screw?
Whatever you need; let me get it. I want to be handy like you.

Grandpa, can I play the math game with you?
How do you divide10,068 by one hundred and thirty-two?
Teach me, please, Grandpa, I want to be smart like you.

Can I come up Grandpa, can I come up too?
I want to see the flying bridge. I want to be part of your crew.
I'll even clean and sand it, and paint the bottom blue!
May I drive the boat? I want to be captain like you.

Can you teach me how to dance, Grandpa, and waltz around the room?
Teach me to follow as you lead, I want to be graceful like you.

Can you teach me about investments and the stock market too?
I don't really understand it, but I want to make money like you.

I watch the way you work, Grandpa, always honest and true.
Can you teach me your work ethic, Grandpa? I want to be respected like you.

I want to work for the Navy, Grandpa, and sail the ocean blue.
I want to fight for our freedom, I want to be brave like you.

I remember as a little girl, putting both feet into your one shoe
Now that I'm grown I know I will never be able to fill them like you
Not much else has changed, though, Grandpa… I still want to be just like you.

Ancient glass and memories

Walking along the beach today, I noticed a piece of "ancient glass" (for those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is broken glass that has been in the ocean long enough to have lost all it's sharp edges and take on a frosted look). I picked it up and was disappointed that is wasn't all that antient after all, besides, I always collected it for Grandpa and he won't be there when I get home anyway. My eyes filled with tears at the thought of it. I threw the glass aside and continued walking, but as I walked I continued to think of Grandpa and all the fun times we had together at the beach. I decided I wanted that glass after all. I turned around and went in search of it. I did manage to find it again; this time I picked it up and put it in my pocket. When I was little, I thought ancient glass was actually worth something, now I know that the memories are worth more than anything I could possibly collect.

Memories are just where you laid them
Drag the waters, till the depths give up their dead
What did you expect to find
Was it something you left behind
Don't you remember anything I said when I said:
Don't... leave love bleeding in my hands
~ Fuel