I stepped outside earlier to run an errand and had a cool experience. The Fall air felt, smelled, and sounded like many experiences I had growing up. We spent a lot of time farming and hunting. The feeling was the temperature, the way the sun hit and felt at that certain angle, the smell of dead leaves and crisp air, the caw of crows and barks of alarmed squirrels. Honestly? I felt transported for a second, back to extremely simple times.
Times when stress felt lightyears away; when stress was like an undiscovered horror that only existed in nightmares.
Where did that go? and why did it go?
I’ll never forget standing in the middle of a field of fresh plowed ground and the cool breeze slowly working it’s way through you and then around the field into the pines needles above. Its part of me. I need that memory.
Well, I’ll stop before this turns into some bad poem. St. Augustine talked about holy communion fondly. He talked about being transported back to Calvary, there for the actual event. Not Christ re-crucified, but transported back to the actual event. The effects of Christ’s good gift applied again; refreshed, renewed, revitalized in heart, mind, and soul. He needed the memory. We need the memory.