Memories by Ludmilla Teterina

A few weeks ago, in his Sunday morning sermon, Jason was talking about his childhood memories and how they take him right back to his grandfather’s farm. His description of the old house, the grounds, and the farm were so vivid that I couldn’t help but think of my own childhood memories. Memories are an interesting phenomenon — they can instantly transport us to places where we may never be able to go in person. My memories took me right back to Snayperskaya Street, the street on which I grew up. I saw a narrow, paved path, looking out of the window of my apartment on the sixth floor of a building in the Moscow suburbs. I walked that path back and forth to school thousands of times. I heard the train in the distance — without looking, I could always distinguish the long-distance locomotive from the local subway trains just by the sounds of the rhythm of their wheels. I saw the park with a 17th-century palace at its center, now a national museum, which was a playground for my friends and me — this palace was a summer home of one of the counts of Peter the Great.

Memories hold not only places for us, but, most importantly, people who are forever connected with those places. My parents, now both with the Lord, my friends, my best girlfriend (we still communicate via social media, though not as frequently as I wish we did), my neighbors, church community. Names, faces, voices, memories. As comforting as they could be, establishing our roots and the core of who we are, memories are also incredibly nostalgic, beckoning the longing for the past and increasing an acute awareness of things that are no more. It is not surprising that people often find themselves grieving over the memories and the past that once was happy and bright and hopeful.

Yet, I dare to say that memories do not have to be sad, nor do they have to always remind us of things that we will never have. If you find yourself in this place, a place where you believe that the best of your life is gone, and what is now will never be quite as good — your story is not finished yet. Let’s live and dream together and make new memories. I will most likely never again walk that path in front of my old apartment building or see the palace reflection in the pond. But if I only focus on what is lost, I will live the rest of my life miserable and disappointed. Instead, I want to build new memories. New faces, voices, names and places are calling for me to respond, to take action, to create new memories for myself and others. You see, we are all connected, you and I, and I am grateful to God beyond words that I find myself in this place at this time. I did not envision this twenty-five-plus years ago when life took me from Moscow, Russia and brought me to Liberty, Missouri. But I am grateful. I wanted to build a new life here, with others who want to live in a Christ-centered community, with people who care for each other and support each other. I want to continue to build memories that make a difference in people’s lives. Would you join me?