Lives in Pictures

"I pictured you and me always, and in this photograph we'll stay." - MuteMath, Picture

There's been a lot going on lately, a lot to think about and process. The biggest thing is that I finally got a job. (Yay!) And the really ironic thing is that it was the job I had before I moved to Denver. (I'll be a reporter at the newspaper here in the town where I live.)

If life had a rewind button, this would be the closest I could get to it. Minus the actual going back, because there are nearly two years between the last time and this time. And that is the one thing that honestly scares me.

Do you ever feel like things in your life never happened? That maybe, even though you remember it, that somehow it was merely conjured up in your mind? It feels so distant, so faded, only a memory kept silently locked in your thoughts. And then when you share it with someone, you almost feel like it's a story you made up or something you read in a book.

For all the pain and heartache that occurred in Denver, I don't want it to become one of those types of memories. I don't want to go a few years and look back and say to myself, "Did I really live there, or have I only just imagined it?"

Then the other day I found an old, full memory card I had packed away. I got it out intending to clear it, to delete every photo it held, because I knew what was on it. It was the card my camera held in 2009, the year that I moved to Denver. I put it in my laptop, figuring that would be the fastest way to empty it, but of course I ended up looking through some of the photographs.

I expected them to be upsetting, reminders of a time that was seemingly wasted. But surprisingly, I found myself smiling as I scrolled through them, reminders of a time that did happen. And for all I know now, in those moments, I was completely happy. That is how I want to remember Denver.

I couldn't bring myself to delete a single picture. Not because I wanted to hold on to those feelings or because I miss those days. It was because I didn't want to allow myself to forget that they happened. There was something wonderfully tangible about those pictures, like the fuzzy memories had been given definition, color, life. It was as though they suddenly became real again.

Perhaps one day I'll write down everything that happened, because there are some crazy and amazing stories from that time. For now, though, I'll let them live in pictures.

I'm excited to see where life is going to go now. I have to let the past be the past and I can't live in it. And above all else, I know this is exactly where God wants me. Because through all the moving and jobs and failures and successes, he brought me right back to the same place I was. He brought me home.