An expired license, old receipts of useless cups of coffee, and a hunting permit. I try to find myself by examining my pockets. Memories are found. Old friends are rediscovered. The deeper I search, the closer I get to discovering who I am. But as I come closer, I notice that who I am now has trouble getting away from who I once was.
I fear the reaction people bestow when they find out who I really am, so I cover my real drivers license with the “Philip” card from Guess Who. Guitar picks always stay in the front pocket so people will instantly give me “cool” status (because all guitar players are cool). My membership card to the National Rifle Association is placed towards the back so I won’t upset the Democrats.
Sometimes I find myself caught in an awkward situation with another person where nothing is being said. The old concert tickets arouse excellent conversation. Stubs of the best concerts bring about hours of discussion—the quality of the band, the crazy people that were there, and the injuries I received in the terrifying abyss of the mosh pit.
In the back of my wallet I noticed a card that I didn’t recognize. I pulled it out and saw that it gave the name and number to the pastor of the church I previously attended. The card advises that the worship service starts at 10:45. This church was a major part of my childhood. It saw me at my strongest, and it saw me at my weakest. My parents decided to leave the church after twelve years of faithful attendance. They have yet to attend a church service since they left it about four years ago. Following the departure of my family, the church has gone through many pastoral changes and a dramatic decrease of members. A few days before I left town for college, I decided to visit the church. I’m not sure if it was for old times sake or because of a hope to see old friends and a chance to say farewell.
At the time of my visitation, only ten members were there. Most of them were people I had never seen before. But these strangers were so loving and welcoming. They took a lot of time asking questions and sincerely getting to know me. At the end of the sermon, just as I was about to leave, the newest pastor of the church came up to me and gave me his card. I scanned it over and noticed the motto in the upper right-hand corner, “…a safe place to be.”
The student identification cards from high school express my struggle with letting go. My old girlfriend still makes her way into my thoughts, but the absence of her picture shows that I am trying to move on. She once had a grand impact on the contents of my wallet, which was previously filled with her little notes conveying love.
My wallet portrayed me as a liar. When I was a sophomore in high school, an announcement came on the intercom notifying all students to report to the auditorium. Excited that we were all getting out of class, we rushed to the auditorium to see what was going to take place. On the stage was a man we had never seen before. He started to speak in a loud, almost intimidating voice. This motivational speaker comically talked about the importance of leadership. All of the students became entranced in the moment as he involved all of us in his speech. It was welcoming and powerful.
As the speaker started to wrap things up, the tone in his voice made the transition into a topic that was apparently serious to him. He talked about the importance of staying away from things that could harm our body such as alcohol and drugs. He passed around little cards that had a statement and a place to sign your name. The saying on the card read “I commit to a drug free life.” He encouraged all of us to sign our names. I thought about it for a little bit. I didn’t sign it until a couple days later when the statement seemed like a pretty important goal. I put the card in my wallet, confident that I had made the right decision.
A couple years after the school meeting I found, myself lost in the recovery of a broken relationship, desperate for a way out. I decided to break the contract. I lied to myself that I would make an effort to stay away from drugs.
As I looked into my wallet I saw a lot of things that need let go of. This excavation brought feelings of pain—old pain that hid inside the back of my thoughts. This pain has been fighting its way to the core of my being ever since it was born. I need to find a way of release. I need to find a safe place to be.
Leslie P. Hartley once wrote that “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there” (The Go-Between). Looking back on my past I see how much I have changed—changed for the better. Priorities from my past are nothing more than fleeting thoughts. I am amazed by how different I present my life to the world. Rummaging through my wallet brought an opportunity to clean it out, finally removing the things from the past.
I Pray for reflection...
I pray for change...
