flooded memories

I walked into Keith's room. In many ways, it looked no different than it had last time I had been here. The piles of dirty clothes scattered around would fool you into thinking that Keith had slept in his room the previous night. Of course, Keith was away at college...and no one had been in his room for weeks. My mind flooded with memories of Keith's smiling face inviting me into his room...proudly displaying his new pet or the latest piece of art he had sketched.

The smell of fresh mold pulled me out of my daydream and into reality. I knelt down and rubbed my hand over the carpet. It was wet...just like every other inch of carpet in the entire house. I peered to my left and my eyes focused on the mold creeping up the bottom two feet of Keith's wall. Splotches of every shade of green, grey, yellow and black covered the bright red door of his closet.

My job was to rip the carpet of out Keith's room. It was located in the back corner of the house...so it just seemed like the best place to start. Our plan was to cram it full of furniture from the other rooms in the house. I walked back to the kitchen and grabbed two plastic garbage bags: one for items that could possibly be salvaged...one for items that Keith would never see again.

As I began clearing the floor, I quickly realized that I was being forced to make decisions that no one should ever have to make. I found stuffed animals, toy baseball bats and handwritten think-you notes. My mind flooded with questions. Why did Keith save this? Does it represent some unforgettable moment he shared with his family? Is it too wet? I desperately wanted to call Keith and ask him about each and every item. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that this had happened to him. I wanted to tell him how I wished he were here with me so that he could tell me the stories that go along with these memories.

It's kinda ironic that I ended up in Keith's room. I had watched Keith grow and mature in our youth ministry over the past three years. I had grown to love his sense of humor and artistic perspective. I had spent many, many hours on the phone with Keith talking about everything from his unrelenting workout schedule to his job at Marble Slab to his frustrations with our youth ministry. If anything, Keith was always honest with me, and I love him for that.

This moment, though, wasn't just about Keith for me. It was about every teenager that I have grown to love over the past three years. Their lives have been ripped apart by a storm. Their lives, their rooms, their memories have been wrecked. Their innocence has been taken from them. Our innocence has been taken from us.

Then again, Keith is making new memories as I speak. He has just begun a new life in Ruston. I would imagine that his dorm room has fresh paint and dry carpets. His walls will soon be full of new sketches that represent the new chapter in his life. He is probably surfing the internet on his new computer or working out with his new roommate (and old friend) Ryan.

Starting college is a time when you start over. You begin a new life. Youthful recklessness begins to mature into adult responsiblity. New friendships are kindled and new memories are made.

I guess we are all starting over. Our old memories are shoved into a white plastic bag sitting on our curb. God, renew us. Rebuild our lives. Rip out the toxicity in our lives and leave us dry and clean.