The Reality of Reminiscing

The Reality of Reminiscing
Friday, July 4, 2025 by Cindy K Sproles

Image by Zdravko Markovic from Pixabay It was a bit sobering to drive through my childhood stomping grounds. I may have shed a few tears along the way. Time has passed—a lot of time. Forty-nine years or so, and the fond memories I had as a child slipped into disappointment.

As a kid, my parents never told me where we fit on the economic spectrum. I was taught to appreciate all I had, to use what possessions I had to their completion (in other words, use them until they fall apart), and to be proud of who I am.

My dad didn't work at Eastman Chemical/Kodak, the company that paid really well. He worked at Mead Paper, the plant that was considered the "poor laborers' plant." We had a modest home on a hill that overlooked the local cemetery, and I had all I needed but never an overabundance. Though it was separated by a couple of hundred yards of woods, I still played in the open field on the back side of the cemetery. Very few called that section of the cemetery home, yet, and though friends were somewhat scarce, my imagination and I traveled and played more than Christopher Robin and Pooh. I was…happy as best I remember. As happy as you could be when you were alone.

I'm not sure if my parents were trying to hide the fact that we weren't as fortunate as most or if I was just flat-out naive. I talked with my brother because I wondered if I’d just dreamed up this lack of information. He said no. It could have been either. I've never asked, and with my mother soon turning 99, I've no intention of tilling that ground. Nonetheless, I dropped Mom off at her hair appointment this lovely day and decided to drive the roads I'd walked as a child. Yes, walked. You read that correctly. I wasn't foolish enough to ride my bicycle. It was all downhill until I started home when the opposite occurred. And I wasn't about to push a bike up all the hills to my home "on top of another hill.”

Image courtesy of Wolfgang Eckert from Pixabay

I began my drive down memory lane by making my way through the cemetery I'd lived near as a kid. I drove to the very back of the graveyard and looked up toward the hill where I had lived. Couldn't see a thing. The wooded area had grown dense and covered with vines. There was no longer a visible path to our little white house on the hill. I drove through the broken asphalt roads of the cemetery, remembering how they were once pristine and smelled of fresh tar. I passed the long-forgotten resting place of the Fraziers, Huffs, Concords, and Ogles. The Farnstons and the Meades. None of my family was buried here, but these names seemed like old friends since I'd played hide and seek behind their stone homes. The cemetery, though mowed, seemed a bit unkempt. Weeds sprouted around some of our city's most prominent leaders who'd found their way to this final resting place.

I proceeded to the road (not a street, though it was paved; it was still called a road) and turned onto the circle that soon led to the house where the Prince spent part of his childhood, and then onto the avenue. The road seemed shorter, and even though it was still steep, it wasn't as steep as it seemed when I pushed my bike up it. There were four small homes on the left of the road when I lived there. Now there were three, along with a slew of trashy, rundown trailers (or, more accurately, cruddy mobile homes). I slowed in front of the house where I was raised. Once a small house, now stood with three poorly constructed additions—one that climbed three stories tall. The only thing that looked vaguely familiar was the picture window in the living room. The brick home that was so pristinely kept next door was rooted with overgrown vines and knee-high grass. Across the street from that house, a small home that was once finely kept now stood in disarray. The giant oak tree with the hollowed-out trunk was gone—the one where I used to crawl into and pretend. There was nothing left, and what was there seemed worthless.

My path took me around the high school I'd attended, only to find it boarded up and falling apart, soon to be leveled to nothing. A portion was restored into a small community center, but the entire back building was in disrepair. To say 'disappointed' would be an understatement. My high school years were the true downfall of my personal self-esteem, thanks to my “friends.” So, I would be sad that this building was soon to be torn down, befuddled me. I guess it was the simple thought that what once thrived was now dead.

So, here I sit, penning what memories I have of my childhood stomping grounds. Were the joys of my childhood just a figment of my imagination? It put me in mind of an old Buggs Bunny cartoon, where Daffy Duck walked through the countryside when a giant pencil with an eraser dropped in front of him and began to erase the scenery. With the stroke of an eraser, it was gone. Despite Daffy’s protest, the artist continued to remove the scenery and then redrew new things.

As always, I began searching for life lessons here. What was God saying to me? What was His point? I thought these memories were to be cherished, not erased. Sifting through the thoughts, change kept knocking at my mind. Change!

“But why?” I asked God. “Why would You allow what few childhood memories I can recall to change?”

“Because. It’s time to let go of the old and look a what lies ahead,” He said with a smile. “Don’t you think you’ve been alone long enough?”

Ouch. That stung, but it forced me to reflect on when I first discovered my self-reliance. I’ve always credited my parents for instilling self-reliance in me, but the truth, as I saw it this day, my self-reliance grew out of loneliness. Most of my childhood was spent alone. I racked my brain to remember my “friends.” There was one, and though she was younger than me and managed to get on my last nerve even as a child, she was the only one. Our neighbor had four children, but they lived in an abusive situation and rarely ventured up the yard long enough to play more than once a week. I remember sitting on our hill, watching those kids play next to their house, wondering why I wasn’t allowed to join. Now, I know. It wasn’t safe for them or me.

I glanced through my mother’s family album. I had a fourth birthday party. As I looked over the kids in attendance, I could only name the one little girl who got on my last nerve. The rest were children of my mother’s friends. I couldn’t tell you one name because I didn’t know them. Oh, the party was fun, but when it was over, and everyone was gone, there I sat again…alone. I suppose that’s when self-sufficiency began to grow in me. If I were going to survive loneliness, then I’d have to make a way myself. And I did.

My imagination became my friend. That and Cindy Kaye Hink. She went with me everywhere. And to this day, my brother lovingly teases me about her, having no idea that this imaginary figure was my lifeline to reality. I guess this is Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay when I begin weaving stories. Stories that would later become fodder for novels. So, God uses every part of us to accomplish the things He wants in our lives.

All this to say, I believe that “I am not in control” is the life lesson God is teaching me now. I can’t control every situation, even tearing down an old school or erasing the old to make way for the new. I have no control. My self-sufficiency is meant to help me manage my days, but my real sufficiency is the Christ who tells me that He is sufficient. His grace is enough. Stop trying to manufacture a reason for more to fill the gaps. He is enough. Guess I need to let the artist erase and redraw. Move forward and release what I cannot change.

“See,” the Father said. “Enough. I AM is enough.”

I doubt I’ll ever drive those roads again where I grew up—too much that needs to stay buried or bears no real meaning to anyone but me. I don’t need what was, only what is to be. As I reflect on entering the golden years of my life, I see that the future God has in store for me is far more important than what was forged in the past. I plan to live every day to the fullest. I plan to cherish the time God has graced me and call it all “pure joy. After all, memories do not a person make.

I can’t change people. I can’t fix every problem. I can’t manage everyone else in my life. I’ve obediently done that in the past as I raised my family. It’s no longer my job. I’m called now to love my family, be an example, and trust that God has them in His palm. I have to trust Him. I have no control over God’s matters. I’m now called to minister to others about His love, through the gift of writing He has assigned to me. I am grateful and happy overall that I have been so blessed, whether in naivety or in protection.

There will be days when I may reminisce about what was. Still, it’s the past and the past can’t be undone, only reshaped as we move ahead. But I will wait for Him to complete in me what He has started and when He is done. I will rejoice. When you look back at what was, don’t linger there for long, for now is what’s important, and tomorrow waits.

Photo Image courtesy of Zdravko Markovic from Pixabay1/ Photo 2 Image courtesy of Wolfgang Eckert from Pixabay/ Photos 3 & 4 courtesy of Cindy Sproles/ Photo 5 Courtesy of Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay/

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Comments

Sandra AllenLovelace From Greenville SC At 7/20/2025 6:22:17 PM

Cindy, I rejoice with you over God's writing call on your life as I’ve received much through your work - in conversations, books, and here today. The similarities in our childhood stories and your insights about the same lay me on my face before His throne. His Presence, Power, and Peace to YOU.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

Awww, thanks so much.

Effie Allen From Bloomington Illinois At 7/11/2025 1:18:34 PM

Cindy: Thank you for your beautiful prose and journey through reminiscing. We share a similar background growing up, including "playing in the cemetery". What a treasure and reality gift to read your story. Absolutely "beautiful". A "ridge-runner" from southern Illinois (Mason Dixon Line) Effie

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

Awww, nice to know I've got someone who "gets" it. Thank you.

Diana From Wilmington NC At 7/6/2025 8:01:57 PM

Cindy, it’s such a gift to know you. Thank you for sharing with us more of your story.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

It's just the life lessons. Thank you.

Cathy Mayfield From Duncannon, PA At 7/6/2025 3:59:46 PM

I already sent the email, but for here I'll say I often connect with your words. From Montrose classes and table/porch talks to this blog, you inspire me to go deeper.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

That will be great.

Cathy Mayfield From Duncannon, PA At 7/6/2025 2:54:35 PM

Well, I was leaving a comment, but it's too long, so I shall leave it in the email I received about this post. See you there!

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

Leave me a short comment here.

Jim Magruder From Racine, WI At 7/5/2025 10:42:53 AM

Cindy, this is an absolutely fabulous blog. Your past shaped you into the gem you are today. And now, writings like this, are shaping us all into more thoughtful, Christlike people.

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

Thank you for the kind words. That means so much.

Maureen Miller From At 7/5/2025 9:52:49 AM

I love this. Several years ago, I returned to Ohio and took a walk down memory lane. Even got to go inside my childhood home because a family friend now owns it. Strange, yet somehow healing. And I look at your life, even your aloneness, and see that God was using it to further create you into the

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

He works wonders, doesn't he?

Melissa Henderson From Mount Pleasant SC At 7/5/2025 7:20:22 AM

This reminds me of my own life experiences. Precious memories. Interesting how we remember things and sometimes those things are different in real life. :-)

Reply by: Cindy Sproles

I know! It was a real shock. I knew we lived on the "poor" side of town but my parents never let me feel poor. Going back with open eyes was a shocker!