As I sit in my bedroom at home, its history haunts me, reminding me of who I've been and how God has changed me. I remember when I moved into this room-- eight years old and completely unaware of the utterly different, yet curiously similar girl that would sleep in the room thirteen years later.
The pictures on the wall have hung there for about nine years, some for longer and some shorter.
On the wall to the left of my closet hangs the wolf poster I designed in 6th grade (that was the class project that sparked my love for the crazy beasts) and a variety of other wolf pictures. To some, it may be an odd fascination, but I love wolves, nonetheless. Another glimpse of the nerdy-self.
The figures on my dresser have collected there over the years, my 1st grade softball trophy being the oldest member of the collection. On one side of my mirror hangs my kindergarten graduation tassel, and on the other side hangs my high school graduation cap.
The miniature piano music box given to me by my piano teacher of eight years sits on the dresser as well, and I remember the many frustrating, yet absolutely incredible years of piano lessons. I think of how my piano teacher didn't just teach me how to play an instrument but how to live a song. She always reminded me of why I should play and Who I should play for, and I haven't forgotten.
Each poster and picture on the wall has a memory and a background. In high school, I hung the 1 Peter 3:3-4 poster above my mirror to daily remind myself of the beauty that lasts in life. Pictures of my family all around my room, because I am blessed by them. Pictures of childhood friends scattered here and there, whether I'm still friends with those folks or not. Why I do keep the pictures? To remind me that friends come and go, but the LORD remains. Posters of childhood fandom and adulthood realizations, Bible verses that have especially made a difference in crucial points in my life and things with memories. I hung John 14:27 at the end of my bed during the times of consecutive nightmares, and it reminds me every night of the peace in Jesus Christ.
The bookshelf that holds many of my favorite classics and even more of my unread, literature goals. I haven't conquered the whole mini-library yet, but someday it will happen (although the books constantly seem to multiply). Books from my childhood sit up there-- the ones that sparked my love for story-telling.
The memory chest is a newer addition to my room, but one of my favorite parts of it. When we found it in the attic, I knew it would be in my life for a while. No matter how unexciting or unenchanting it's outward appearance may be, it's inward contents are priceless. Old journals, even older pictures, little artifacts that remind me of the people that have come and gone through my life, glimpses of myself from the past and dreams for myself in the future. Few secrets, but many stories.
Such a little room, yet so much history of my small life.
This summer, I plan to move to my sister's old room.
Maybe it's for the extra space. Maybe it's for the change. Maybe it's for both.
Maybe it's to remind myself that a room with a past does not define me.
It will be hard to say goodbye to this room, but it will always be my room.
No one knows it like I do.
It's time to move on.
The pictures on the wall have hung there for about nine years, some for longer and some shorter.
On the wall to the left of my closet hangs the wolf poster I designed in 6th grade (that was the class project that sparked my love for the crazy beasts) and a variety of other wolf pictures. To some, it may be an odd fascination, but I love wolves, nonetheless. Another glimpse of the nerdy-self.
The figures on my dresser have collected there over the years, my 1st grade softball trophy being the oldest member of the collection. On one side of my mirror hangs my kindergarten graduation tassel, and on the other side hangs my high school graduation cap.
The miniature piano music box given to me by my piano teacher of eight years sits on the dresser as well, and I remember the many frustrating, yet absolutely incredible years of piano lessons. I think of how my piano teacher didn't just teach me how to play an instrument but how to live a song. She always reminded me of why I should play and Who I should play for, and I haven't forgotten.
Each poster and picture on the wall has a memory and a background. In high school, I hung the 1 Peter 3:3-4 poster above my mirror to daily remind myself of the beauty that lasts in life. Pictures of my family all around my room, because I am blessed by them. Pictures of childhood friends scattered here and there, whether I'm still friends with those folks or not. Why I do keep the pictures? To remind me that friends come and go, but the LORD remains. Posters of childhood fandom and adulthood realizations, Bible verses that have especially made a difference in crucial points in my life and things with memories. I hung John 14:27 at the end of my bed during the times of consecutive nightmares, and it reminds me every night of the peace in Jesus Christ.
The bookshelf that holds many of my favorite classics and even more of my unread, literature goals. I haven't conquered the whole mini-library yet, but someday it will happen (although the books constantly seem to multiply). Books from my childhood sit up there-- the ones that sparked my love for story-telling.
The memory chest is a newer addition to my room, but one of my favorite parts of it. When we found it in the attic, I knew it would be in my life for a while. No matter how unexciting or unenchanting it's outward appearance may be, it's inward contents are priceless. Old journals, even older pictures, little artifacts that remind me of the people that have come and gone through my life, glimpses of myself from the past and dreams for myself in the future. Few secrets, but many stories.
Such a little room, yet so much history of my small life.
This summer, I plan to move to my sister's old room.
Maybe it's for the extra space. Maybe it's for the change. Maybe it's for both.
Maybe it's to remind myself that a room with a past does not define me.
It will be hard to say goodbye to this room, but it will always be my room.
No one knows it like I do.
It's time to move on.
No comments:
Post a Comment