Her fine, gold-tinted hair twisted comfortably around her finger, her pale green eyes quivering as when one steps out into the brilliant morning sunlight; her chin was slightly tilted up, and her entire posture, leaning forward and upward, suggested admiration, respect, and attentiveness to her father, who had gathered her as a bundle in his arms in a tight embrace. She was just a child. But he knew one day, she would be the one taking care of him. His embrace held firm, lingering on, though the moment had passed.
Life is transitory—a string of passing moments, at times more taut than others. Yet, it passes us by, like the stream of people one sees when driving by a busy sidewalk in New York City. At every juncture, we cling—like this father—to hold tightly to experiences that quickly evolve into only memories.
Yet, as I have learned from C.S. Lewis, memories are not truly degrees less than our experiences—even though this is how we so often perceive them. No, the memory enhances the experience—the memory endures beyond the experience itself—and what endures ought to point us to something of much greater significance. We miss out, if we think life is only about the moments. Cherish the memories, and don’t let them fade. For in them, you will find life anew, perhaps in ways you can only begin to imagine.
These are words for myself as I enter “the rest of my life”. I phrase it that way because marriage is, in many ways, a coming of age for a woman. No matter what length of time passes between moving out of your parent’s home to the day you walk down the aisle, you will spend the rest of your life with that man of your dreams. And thus, it stands: my single life was “only for a season”—a longer season than I initially anticipated, to be sure—but a season all the same.
And so, here I stand, a married woman. My feet are wet now, I’m no longer just peering into the deep, dark, mysterious pool called “marriage”. I have meandered in, I’ve taken my time, and what will come when I reach the greater depths, I do not know. I only know that as I open this new series—not a new chapter but an entire series—I believe it deems a separate blog of its own. I am hereby relegating my old “blogger” to the previous season of my life, so as to express this change in my life. Who I am today will not be who I am when I die. I will grow, I will change, and I desire my writings, and their context, to reflect these varied seasons of my life.
May the words you read here reflect the person of Christ, whose character, as time progresses, prayerfully becomes more and more my own.
-Mrs. Cynthe Burbidge