Nostalgia

I've been fixing up some of my old guitar gear to sell in order to purchase something new. One of the items to go is my first acoustic. I remember saving my grocery-store-cart-boy money and buying it myself and the feeling of how proud I was to own something which I paid for. That was the guitar I really cut my teeth on (other than the nylon string jalopies from Mrs. Harrop's 7th grade music class): first gigs; first songs. I can even recall exact places where I played it.

Its strange to part with pieces of the past. (I'm a pack-rat so this doesn't happen often.) There's a lingering feeling of hope that I won't regret giving it up. But I know the memories won't be gone along with the guitar. Those are set in place. Only in time will some of them fade away, replaced by more recent circumstances.

I think its a good exercise though. There's a lot more than tangible items onto which I hold: mindsets, character traits; habits; the way things should be done. What do I need to part with in order to move forward. What needs to go so I can move on? Its not that I don't like change. I like the idea of it...in fact I really like it once its happened and I can look back and laugh on the old me. But its the examination that's difficult. How do we discover and name those pieces of ourselves with which we would be better off without.

My history tells me to say "prayer". Pray to God and those parts will be illuminated. That's true...good too. Prayer is necessity for those who profess faith in God and Christ. But there's the clincher isn't it? Professing faith in God and Christ. Its one thing to be convicted of something. Its another thing to let that thing go; set it free; give up the ghost. It presents questions. What will I be without that? If I stop thinking this way will God still love me? What will people think of me if I don't look, act, and talk like everyone else? If I really do believe in what Jesus said: "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Matt. 11:28 ESV)", then those questions fade away as quickly as they approached.

Jesus promises rest. My questions promise unrest. Yet I still allow myself to be chained to the questions which keep me from giving up those things which I must to be free in Christ.

My friend Justin often concludes his prayer with the words of the father in Mark 9 saying "I believe, help my unbelief!" Its such a simple sentence, but with such profound meaning. I know there is freedom there. I've tasted it myself. Why hold on?

It just started with waxing nostalgic over a guitar. Now I've got myself thinking.