As we gear up to leave Virginia, I find myself becoming more and more nostalgic. I am not sentimental, really, except when I begin to think about all the symbols and remembrances in life, and how some things are like other things -- I guess that's the poet in me.
I was telling Lindsay and Emily the other day, as I was thinking about moving, that as John Green says in The Fault in Our Stars, "Nostalgia is a side effect of dying." And I think this is true. We become nostalgic about things and places and people and memories because we realize in these moments of change that we are so very mortal, and these moments of change remind us that our lives are short and these changes are little deaths. Our leaving Blacksburg is a little death. We may not come back here, may not see these dear ones again on this Earth, in this life. And so we become nostalgic, because we are dying, all of us, and we want to remember and hold this places and memories and people dear.
And the same with our little ones. Parents can err on the side of being too nostalgic, of course, and not enjoy each stage for mourning the others -- but it is true in some ways. Jude will never be this naive, this young, this trusting and excited about life as he is today.
So, what, then? Where is gospel in our living, in our dying?
Everywhere, reader. We live today in the joy of the gospel, and take the joys and sorrows in the knowledge that Christ is risen, that the reason the Son of God came was to destroy the devil's work (1 John 3:8), and that He is making all things new.
And here are some of our daily joys.
Blessings to you, dear reader.