Please take time to read the previous post for context. This is my follow up response.
The soil of my beginnings. The landscape that houses my earliest memories.
My mind traveled to Hartsville this past weekend. My father’s words always have a way of taking me to places—to new levels of understanding often tucked away in the old and in the unseen, yet, when scratched, become the itch that cannot be ignored. I’ve thought a lot about my early memories and Sam Keen’s words…
“Tell me your three earliest memories and I will tell you what you are working on right now.”
I’ve plumbed the depths of my remembrances; some have yielded pleasant. Some not so much. And as it pertains to my now, I’ve come to two conclusions about those early imprints—those firmly rooted memories and about how they, perhaps, continue their shaping of my current.
1. The find.
One of my earliest memories can be traced back to this picture–an Easter egg hunt at the ripe age of nearly three. Some would argue me too young to remember, but the images in my mind from that day are real and vivid. I can still feel the heat of the sun and the squirm of my hand inside of my mother’s grip. The decorations of the Easter basket were held together with straight pins, pricking my tiny fingers with just enough annoyance to relegate my attention away from the task at hand.
The find. The candy and the eggs. The hidden treasure that required my participation.
My anticipation was heightened by the flock of other children intent on doing the same. Even at my young age, there was a deep sense of urgency for the find. I was disturbed by the waiting for the horn to sound, signaling the beginning of the hunt. I was even more disturbed by the possibility of not being able to get my hands on the prize.
The memory holds little else for me beyond these initial moments of waiting, but once the signal sounded, my heart and my feet raced forward for the find. I don’t remember the prize that I took away from that event. Perhaps the memory in and of itself, is the prize.
The find. The urgency for the hunt. The concern that somehow I would be overlooked and unable to get my hands on the promised treasure of Easter.
Could it be that I’ve never quite escaped my need for the search?
2. The fear.
Hartsville also housed the beginnings of my fear.
In that season, my father was in graduate school and my mother worked part-time; thus, my sister and I were sometimes left in the care of babysitters. One of our favorites was Beulah. I liked going to Beulah’s house, but going to Beulah’s meant being away from my parents. I remember standing on her front porch, furiously waving to my father as he drove away. Because of his absence, tears filled my eyes as an unhealthy sense of fear filled my heart.
For all of the reasons that I loved Beulah, they weren’t enough to warrant any joy at being left in her care. I’m not sure as to the reasons why, but the insecurities secured in me during that season were the beginnings of a deeply rooted fear that has followed me for nearly four decades.
Could it be that I’ve never quite escaped from my fear of being left behind—forgotten about and deemed as the “lesser priority” of well-intentioned goals?
The find and the fear. Two urgent and pressing memories that surfaced for me this past weekend as I contemplated what I might, perhaps, “…be working on now.”
One replaces the other. The more I find the treasure of Easter, the less I fear being left behind. The hunt for Jesus—the digging and the intentional search for the kingdom of heaven—always yields a peace that surpasses any fear that surfaces to the contrary. I know this to be true, for I am an Easter person.
I’ve walked the road to Calvary and found the greatest treasure of eternal Truth seeded in its soil and harvested in his resurrection. Jesus didn’t walk the road home to his Father so that I could stand on earth’s porch in fear of his never returning. No, he walked home so that I could follow accordingly, with a faith that replaces fear and with a joy that comes from being trusted with the sacred find.
When we find forever, friends, and when we cherish it as the greatest holding of our hearts, we need not fear his return on our behalf. He’s coming, and it won’t be long. Fear tells us that it will be, but faith reassures us that our waiting is but a breath—a single pause between our flawed memories and our sure and soon-to-be, eternal realities.
Now we see dimly. Live dimly, and remember dimly. But soon, we shall fully see. Fully live and fully understand how our beginnings—our early remembrances—have shaped us and equipped us for the kingdom find that has always been our Father’s intention. Thus I pray,
For memories and their shaping, Father, I thank you. Never let the “truth” of my past replace the truth of who you are. The former is flawed, whereas you are perfect. When I am tempted to be shackled by the restraints of imperfect remembrances, increase my vision for my perfected end. As I live my life in process, I ask for your guiding hand and divine wisdom to be my teacher. Where there is fear, replace it with faith. And when I cry tears, wipe them away with the truth of your return. Today, I cast my eyes to the Eastward sky, knowing that you soon will break my stare with the glorious revelation of your return. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.
Copyright © November 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved
PS: For any of you who would like to be put on my father’s weekly email list, please email me separately with your address. I will pass it on to him. Shalom.
The ‘find’ and the ‘fear’ – my life contains both those memories as well. The One I found should erase all fear, but sadly fear is still so often present. I’m thankful for His Word that says, “‘You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you,’ declares the LORD…” Jer.29:13-14a
A fellow treasure seeker,
Joy
Incredible how deeply rooted are some of our most troublesome challenges. It’s refreshing and heart-warming (even while saddening) to hear your authenticity; to feel your fear and to search along with your find.
I was 45 before I was finally rid of the black insecurity that dogged my every new effort, my every doubtful moment.
But I’m with you, my greatest find is the one I long for most: His return.
Hugs,
Kathleen
I was totally captivated by your dad’s post and the challenge therein. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it all weekend. I haven’t come to terms with what my memories might mean, as yet, but I think it might warrant a post of its own. It’s interesting how the memories involving fear are so strong that they pop up as “firsts” for so many of us.
You know where to reach me…pass me along to your dad. :o)
Hugs,
Melinda
3 earlies memories…let me see…
–standing at my granny’s hem, yanking it, asking for a biscuit; she was rolling biscuits and cutting them; they weren’t even cooked yet, but I knew how good they were going to be.
–my dad had walked to the car, an old 1959 Oldsmobile, to open the trunk and get out the softdrink cooler…I was about 3yo…I climbed up on the rear bumper to watch, or help I thought, and proceeded to pass out and fall into the trunk!…it was my first instance of “passing out” which became a weekly event and later was determined to be “low blood pressure” and I outgrew it…but those instances were “forever memories” for me.
–exploring the backyard barbecue pit with my older sister…a large, brick-walled barbecue pit with a gravel floor…we would play there sometimes with our babies and “barbies” because it was a cool “get away” (even though it was only about 50 feet from the back door)…it sure seemed farther than that.
Anyway, we’d often have spiders, little garden snakes, ants and chameleons…so it was a “jungle” to me at the age of 3, yet my sister was always there to protect me!
I love your analogy of replacing “you-know-whose” fears with promises of Heaven…that gives me instant relief, too!
thanks for sharing…
🙂
Thought provoking posts, Elaine. I remember at age 5 having the only birthday party I’ve ever had in my life. And I remember my mother, after it was over, saying “well that was just too much trouble and we’re never doing again.” And she didn’t. I suppose that would be a rejection of sorts… I am grateful that with my God rejection is never an issue. blessings, marlene
This is beautiful Elaine. I think that is what I always say to you. But everything you write is beautiful!
I really liked your response and your dad’s wonderful words. I’m a bit envious of Tim – who got to be in his class — I bet it was awesome.
I will email you — I’d love to get his weekly writings. I wish I wrote as poetically as you and your father!
Blessings!
Mindy
Very thought provoking post Elaine. I can assure you this is something that I will spend some times pondering… my earliest memories… There is much truth in these two posts.
I have missed you… I have been so busy that I have been neglecting my blogging and my blogging friends. Hope to be back real soon.
Lynn
Thank you for this second part– it is beautiful.I adored your pictures and the glimpse into you.
I can’t believe you found photos to go with your memories! Makes it so much more powerful. I am still trying to sift through my three…
Oooohhh – wonderful wisdom (and, of course, adorable as anything pictures!). Incredible lesson for us all, beautifully sharded, as always, dear Elaine.
wifeforthejourney:
You and your father are good to stir us to the substance of living – our views of life and God’s. There is both “find” and “fear” in my own rememberances.
As you know, I am so easily consumed by the immediate, to the point that I often forget about what matters most. Election Day or Easter? I am a fool to place my hopes in anything else but Christ.
I will spend more time today considering early memories, what I have found in Christ, and what I am doing today. Love you!
~ Billy
I long for His return, too, Elaine!
Elaine, I had to do a double-take when I saw “Hartsville”. I, too, grew up in Hartsville … but not in Indiana. My finds and fears began in Hartsville, South Carolina … and have ended in the heart of Him Who never fails.
Isn’t it awful how things that effect us as young children can haunt us for so long? I remember feeling the same way when I was little and my mom drove off to work.
Thank God for HIS plans for our lives – plans for our good and not for our harm, plans for hope and for a future.
By the way, your pix are adorable. 🙂
I have thought about your Dad’s email quite a bit over the last few days.
There is so much fear in my first memories. But although there is fear…there is such great insight into what others were not seeing.
I too know that the path that leads to security ends at His feet. I am still learning. The past few years have been great in fixing what the enemy worked so hard to destroy. The job is not finished but He will not give up until the job is done! \o/