Life as a Nesting Doll: How We Carry our Past With Us

Is the past really the past? Or does it stay with me in some form, wherever I am, influencing me in ways I am not aware of? Can the past be brought to good use in my present life? Can the dark past be redeemed, and the bright days of the past be a source of strength and guidance for me today?  I say yes, yes, and yes. Nothing is lost, and nothing is wasted. It is all grist for the mill in present daily living.

Recently my wife, daughter, and I attended a joint memorial for a husband and wife who died just days apart from each other. This couple, along with the many friends we had in common who were present that day, had an immense impact on our lives fifty years ago. They were instrumental in starting a small home Church in the early seventies, that later grew into a more traditional Church and school. Over time, some of the members moved away, some returned to the Church they were raised in, or some left the Church altogether.  But, in those early days, this small group of young Christian families learned together how to become fathers and mothers and uncles and aunts and brothers and sisters. And we learned how to lean on each other and hold each other up during those difficult early years of raising families.

I was full of anticipation to see these friends who had meant so much to me, after losing contact with them for so many years. As we entered the building, we could hardly go five feet without joyfully greeting one of our long-lost friends. This happened over and over for the next hour, until the ushers had to physically lead us to our seats to start the service. What a testimony to this couple; to see such love and affection so many of us had for each other after so many years of separation. This was tangible evidence of this couple’s impact on all of us, without a word yet spoken.

As we drove the forty-five-minute drive home, I reflected on the afternoon, on the rekindled feelings and memories, and what it all meant. Where did these feelings come from? Why were they so strong?  How does my past, seemingly hidden out of sight, suddenly come fully alive in me? It was as if the past, the joyful past and the hard, dark moments of the past that went along with it, was alive and still had meaning. It did not go away somewhere else, even after these thirty years.

I was reminded of a quote by Frederich Buechner in his marvelous book “Whistling in the Dark”,

            WHEN YOU REMEMBER me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. It means that you can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means that if we meet again, you will know me.

 Yes, as I looked at my old friends, I was summoned back. We each remembered something of who we were back then—fumbling, struggling parents, seeking God and each other, hoping to find our place in this world, and to help our children to do the same.

We were older, much older; Hair was gray (or gone), wrinkles abound, we were getting shorter, plumper—and yet, we could not hide behind our eyes and our smiles. My friends were still there, and so was I to them.

The mistakes we made with each other seemed forgiven. The foibles we laughed at, but the love we had for each other was palpable and present.

It was then I knew Buechner is right. They never left. They have always been there. There is an element of eternity in my past, and therefore in my present and in my future. I’m no quantum physics expert, but somehow it’s as if all of time and all of my experiences then, now, and even to come are rolled up into this present moment. All of it makes up who I am. And I feel nothing but gratitude for that.

Even the hard times that sometimes come to us have a place in making us who we are.  Bill Wilson, founder of Alcoholics Anonymous, wrote

 Cling to the thought that, in God’s hands, the dark past is the greatest possession you have – the key to life and happiness for others. With it you can avert death and misery for them. 

 I have been thinking more of the past as I enter into my seventies. I sometimes I see within me the little scared child I was. Or at times, I see the insecure teenager, the sometimes-terrified young father, and the serious middle-aged man. I now have compassion for these versions of myself, which leads me to have compassion for those going through these same stages of life. I now know that we are all doing the best we can at every stage of life.

We are like a set of Russian nesting dolls. The large outer doll is who I see myself as I am at this moment. But lift that one, and there is another smaller one, and then another, and another and another until there is one very tiny one at the center of them all. Each of those dolls represents my self at that time—and each of those selves still belong to me today. They do not go anywhere.

Walt Whitman wrote in his great poem “Song of Myself”

The past and present wilt—I have fill’d them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future…

 (I am large, I contain multitudes.) ….

 I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

I carry all I have been, all that I am, and all that I will be with me at all times.

Who I was and who you were are still with me. Yes, it is all grist for the mill—for my continual becoming. As the Gospel writer Mathew wrote:

 “Every student of the scriptures who becomes a disciple in the kingdom of heaven is like someone who brings out new and old treasures from the storeroom.” MA 13:52

I have a wondrous gratitude for my old friends, along with an appreciation for the new ones that I make. Nothing is lost. It is all one story of one journey. I don’t know what happens to time when I enter into eternity, but somehow I know everything I am, did and happened will all be saved and redeemed and contained in that one eternal moment.

I love my old friends, as I love my new ones.