Grace Youth [House]: A Eulogy

You were a hand-me-down for us. We walked through the door, both doors actually, the glass door that always made a very characteristic noise upon opening or closing, so everyone knew when you tried to sneak in late, and then the slightly peeling front door. We walked through that door into a musty smelling house for the very first time as 6th graders, unknowing of the memories that it already guarded, the memories it would bestow upon us. It was already pretty unique to have a youth house rather than a room, or even a section of the church. We had a whole house, granted it was a very small house, but it was our house. With mismatched couches and chairs that were older than us, but they provided an enveloping place that felt safe. The stained, ancient pool table that used to sit in the middle where everyone would rest their hands and put their Bibles. The knight that sat in the corner that watched over our studies, even though the people in my generation don't really know why he was even there. The chalkboard in the back where we wrote notes to each other and funny sayings or inside jokes. The tiny kitchen where there were popsicles and ice cream in the freezer that was long ago expired. No one actually ate it.
This house always had it's doors open (pun intended) in a sense, it made no judgements when you stepped over the threshold. You could also feel it living, breathing, full of past conversations, discussions, and laughter. What it represented was along the lines of what Christ lived on this Earth as; a place of refuge and worship and one of people coming together, even with all of our differences. People came and went, fading in and out of the fabric of the story like the sun going behind clouds and casting shadows intermittently. But there was always that core group of us. We were there just about every Wednesday night without fail, despite soccer practice, band practice, AP classes, homework, despite our pasts and where we came from. We were all so different, but we fit together like a puzzle. Some of us very deep, theological thinkers, some of us old souls living in a teenagers body, some of us acting like the parent of the group, some of us always having to be reined in to focus on what we were really there for. Some of us followers, some of us leaders. We complimented one another perfectly, effortlessly. Even though there were some roller coaster moments, people got mad at one another, as we all changed and developed towards what Christ was shaping us to be. We were a bunch of misfits that happened to just work well together. We were a tribe.We did everything together, especially during the summer. We were always at Sonic, causing mischief. We had countless sleepovers, swimming at neighborhood pools, bonfires. The years of camp at Woodlands, always being the crazy youth kids from that one church that couldn't stay away from each other. These years of memories were on a time clock though, as we all aged and grew closer to the time where we would grow apart. Eventually a couple of us graduated high school. We thought it wouldn't be hard to keep in touch. As we went away, dynamics changed. Things changed without us there. More tribe members left, or faded away. Eventually, everyone was dispersed, merging with their new present, leaving the memories we shared in the past.
This youth house, as old and dumpy as it was, and probably infested with who knows what, it was the last thing tying me to those memories. The ones I cherish so deeply. The connections, relationships, the discussions and learning, the tears, all of the moments that happened there were held in those walls. Whispering to you as you walk through that old storm door, reminding you of your past. As the house is brought to the ground, I feel like a piece of my life during my teenage years has been demolished as well. I grew so much during those times, learned so much about myself, about being Christ-like, about His love and what it means to love one another. I learned how people that are so, so different can mesh and intertwine and become almost a part of each other. Gone is the house, and the last physical thing connected to those memories. It brings about a new sense of need, to keep them alive in my heart and soul, but to finally let go of the past and how things use to be. To let the nostalgia fade, just like the tribe did. Facing forward, embracing the present and what is now. 

a whisper

summer slips into fall, quietly, without notice until it's already happened.
the air changes quality, you notice suddenly.
the tangible feeling that summer air holds, one whispering potential, has faded away.
leaving you with emptiness swirling all around as the leaves begin to drop from the trees.
life goes into hibernation; as the leaves fall and litter the ground, they leave behind skeletons stark in contrast to the horizon. holding fast, holding onto the hope of warmth once again.
the grass turns brown and brittle, the ground is hard with cold. early mornings are sharp breezes against your bare cheek, foggy breath, cold air burning your nostrils.
fall brings change.
change brings diminishing functionality as winter looms in the distance, a chilling dark fog.