Picture me backed into a corner, all paths of escape blocked by dusty packing boxes.

It’s not really quite that bad, although I am feeling a little overwhelmed at the thought of moving all my possessions up to Michigan. This will be the first time in my adult life everything will be in one place; since 1984, when I left our Missouri farm as a teenager to go to college, part of my stuff has always been in storage in one place or another. When I arrive in Portage I will have to figure out what to do with things that I’ve been holding onto since -– can you believe it? -– since grade school!

My life since 1984 has been a series of moves, each one leaving something behind. I left our farm and my rural high school to study physics and explore the larger world. I left childhood for good to become an engineer, and then left engineering to attend seminary. I left the United States to work in Romania, and left my students there to come back here and finally get down to the work of professional ministry. Each time I have tried to fool myself that the move was a clean break with no baggage to worry about.

But now I’m surrounded by all that baggage. Dusty, mildewy baggage. The worst of it is the yearbooks. Pictures of me from twenty years ago, a spectacularly graceless, unattractive, unpopular nerd, reminders of how difficult being a teenager had been, and how easy it is to suddenly relive all of it. An unbelievable number of books from high school and college, my comfort and substitute for a social life. And clothes that I can’t believe I ever wore –- were those things really in style in the 80s?

My childhood and youth weren’t really all bad -– don’t get me wrong. There have been many, many joyous experiences and relationships. But those I have always gladly kept with me, taking them out whenever I needed them, reminding myself what a tremendous gift life is. For every one of those unpleasant memories, I could call up perhaps ten more happy ones.

I just returned from our General Assembly in Rochester, which I spent reconnecting with friends and colleagues. I was especially struck by the colleagues who had been mentors to me when I had just begun learning the ropes in seminary –- struck at how undeniably human they are, the part I hadn’t seen when I was busy learning to be like them. For some, their frailty has been their undoing, and their careers have unraveled, sometimes damaging those around them as well. For others, the same vulnerability has been a stepping-stone to a genuine, heartfelt ministry with their congregations and communities. For better or worse, their whole selves had to be reckoned with, and the ones who did it mindfully emerged with new wholeness and strength.

It would be much easier to throw out all this cobwebby stuff than to box it and move it to Michigan. It would be easier to put all of it behind me and pretend that I can cut myself off from the past I don’t like. But selective memory is a dangerous thing, and the parts of ourselves that we neglect or hide from have a way of reasserting themselves. Like it or not, those times and experiences are always with us and are best handled respectfully.

I’ll be driving up to Portage in the last week of July, and will start officially on August 1. Although it will probably take most of August to get my boxes –- ALL of my stuff, good and bad –- unpacked, the work is worth it. I’m looking forward to having all of me, and all of my life, up there with you, and beginning our work together.

Yours in Faith –-
Scott Gerard Prinster