Back to the Past…not Back to the Future

One of my favorite Hallmark Christmas movies was on this evening, Journey Back to Christmas with Candace Cameron Bure.

In it, she time travels about 70 years into the future.

Of course, we all know that Marty McFly zip zaps to the future AND the past with Doc in the Back to the Future trilogy.

I’ve made no secret of my desire to go back in time and right some wrongs, from redoing high school to raising my kids with a grandmother’s mindset. (And patience. AND wisdom of just how fleeting their time at home is.)

There are also many things that were GOOD that I’d love to revisit.

Playing board games with my sister, eating dinner with my family on a random weeknight, visiting my grandparents…

(Bending over without pain, running without wheezing, seeing my feet?)

But seriously, I’ve spent more than a minute asking for this miracle of going back in time.

Watching this movie tonight, I realized that not once have I asked the Lord to let me go to the future.

I would be as scared as this girl is.

Probably more so because this world is getting more and more wicked.

I’m terrified to think what it will be like in 70 years.

Will America still be a free country? Will Christianity be outlawed? Will people still be allowed to pray publicly?

If I went to the future and saw where we were (because I know where we are headed), I’m not sure I could come back and lead a productive life. I think I’d be weeping all day.

I think the Lord is already weeping at how we’ve turned from Him.

Last week I talked about how my childhood was rooted in faith. In church.

Now, people stay home and catch up on sleep on Sundays. They refuse to make their kids attend church if they don’t want to. They see God has an archaic figure, an abstract concept.

And we wonder why our country is in such dire straits…

So if you swing by to pick me up in a DeLorean with a flux capacitor, please make sure it’s set to the PAST not the FUTURE!

 

THE BIG 5-0!

I can’t believe I’m 50.

On this day in 1969, a little hazel-eyed blonde baby was born to APD officer John Ritchie and his teacher wife, Gloria.

I had the quintessential Southern suburban upbringing. School, church, neighborhood parties. Summer vacations, club tennis and swimming. Grandparent visits, piano lessons, community theater.

Sometimes I’m not sure if I look back with rose-colored glasses or I just didn’t appreciate it like I should’ve back then.

Probably a little of both.

My teenage years were tumultuous. Even then, I was stereotypical. Preacher’s kids and cop’s kids, right?

I was a rebel.

But a very naive one, a fact I would later realize in my early 40’s. One whose pragmatism was ironically cloaked in idealism. Still is, to a certain degree. It’s strange when you have two brains simultaneously competing for thought time.

But after 4 decades of life, I have come to appreciate these quirks. I like that I’m a little weird. I think we all are.

If only we could realize that when we’re younger.

I’ve also learned to embrace my past. It’s not delusional to stow away the more unpleasant memories and focus on the good ones. I know they are there; I’m not trying to erase history. But their place is the basement of my mind. The good memories get the window seats.

I like being able to look in the mirror and really like the person I see. Sure, she can lose a few pounds, but she’s no longer lost HERSELF.

I like her because I see the Lord in her.

Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? 1 Corinthians 3:16

Now for my next 50 years…