Nostalgia

I think I am by nature a nostalgic person. Spending hours looking at old photos is not a waste of time, even if it means digging a heavy 5-gallon plastic box out from my mom's closet. I don't mind reading my old diaries, even with their terrible spelling and embarrassing immaturity. My 8th grade year book, along with the tons of sentimental junk I decided to keep forever when I was 13, is still neatly tucked away in a little box waiting for the day when I can show my memorabilia off to someone who will treasure it as much as I do. I love remembering the past, even the painfully dark times, and one my worst fears has always been forgetting. 

The thing about nostalgia, though, is that I can't let it take over my every thought. There are times when visiting an old friend's Facebook profile, finding an old letter from a long-time pen pal, or stumbling upon an old family photo throws me into a chasm of memories of times I can't revisit no matter how much I wish I could.

And that's just the trouble: I end up wishing I could go back to that summer riding my bike around the neighborhood taking in the deep lavender of the flowering trees. I end up wishing I could experience the bond I felt with the friends I made so easily at camp, at least just for another day. I end up wishing I could go back to the time of wonder and nervousness and sweaty palms as Richie and began to date. I end up wishing for so much that I can never have and instead of enjoying the memories and the fact that I have them, I idolize them.

I have a lot of memories to be thankful to God for, but instead of thanking him for the wonderful times he's allowed me to live, I turn what he gave me into a desire stronger than my desire for him.

I found my idol. I know I have to dethrone it and let God take his rightful place again.