Box of candid photographs.

In my memory I sit curled up in my favorite reading chair. A blanket wrapped for comfort.

I push play for music that speaks to my soul. I can feel the bass in my chest. Light flickers against walls.

I sort through the pictures. Like in Harry Potter's world, these pictures are not static but move as I hold them. They bring with them sounds, and color and texture of life.

I pick up the first photo. An old theatre. Deep red curtains. The center isle leading to the stage. It was my new experience to have church in a building other than, well, a church. It was a place I only visited a few times when I could catch a ride during my car-less freshman year. There was something different about the voices. The sounds in the theatre. The story that began during autumn years ago.

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Edges of another photo. A converted supermarket is now a church. Clouds are painted on the front wall bordering the brick wall in the center. Candles line the front stage, wax dripping down the black metal holders into puddles. The young man in front has humor and honesty that catches me off guard. And the music pulls me out of myself. Out of my awkwardness and clumsiness. This became my resting place.

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The back room is painted in deep blues, golds and burgundy. Couches in a circle. And discussions between peers that make my head and heart spin. Sometimes it's a Sunday morning. A handful or two of college students. Some days it is a Tuesday night and there is the sweet smell of cigars and maybe a pipe. It is here a group is gathered one week after a phone call. It was time for on leader to start a new community and new journey. Time for the torch to be passed on to another. I remember a feeling of sadness for this passing moment. And a comfort in my soul for this community I belonged.

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A retro Sunday. "New" burst orange pews to accommodate the few hundred college students. In the spirit of celebrating a silly gift of seating, some of us boldly dressed up in old 60's and 70's attire. There was fun here. Laughing. Spirit. Sarcasm at times. Yet there was also awe. Mystery. Beauty. Humility and brokenness.

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Communion during the last Sunday before I moved home from college. Orange pews still. Tears from my friend Kelly and I before walking up for a torn corner of bread and the small plastic cup of grape juice. It was time for my life to change. Many good moments from the previous few years. And a lot of uncertainty ahead. Distance to separate me from a place that fostered the paradigm shift. One that would leave lasting ripples of change. Distance from a community that always allowed me to be me. The music that enveloped me, was felt in the beat of my heart and soul. With eyes closed, within moments I was transported to another world.

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Another photo. The last time I saw my pastor Kyle. He spotted Kelly and I during the sermon. A moment of recognition. I remember how much I longed at that time to be back in that room week after week. To a place where I could come to with whatever was on my heart. Close my eyes. Sway. Forget about the outside and remember my connection to something else. We chatted with Kyle after the service for only a few quick moments before visiting another college hangout.
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This next photo was outside of a house on Halloween weekend. Dressed up in costume with the phone in my hand. To hear the words "Kyle is gone". The world paused if only for seconds.

The dramatic pause of a song that soon would let the tears begin. And a new melody rise.

The cool October air. Inside candy corn and chocolate, decorations and a few early students and parents. But outside is was an enveloping darkness. It's a picture I hid against my chest for a few hours that night before sharing. A picture says a thousand words... This snap shot was a climatic chapter of Kyle's story that had a brief but profound supporting role in my story. And my story there after continues to be colored by this picture.

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I sort through more photographs. Some are laid out in a time line. My eyes dart back and forth between them. There are others that are out of sequence laying in my lap. The beating the bass is still there. The melody of relationships is present. The harmonies of conversations are the richness and colors. There are shadows and light playing around with the images that are sometimes clear and other times softly blurred with time.

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So I pull out the most recent photograph. Standing in a pew of a church I have never attended, in a city I don't live, more than a thousand miles from where the first picture in the old theatre was taken. Instead of candles there are lights. And the music louder, more complex. The same band plays. A request from someone in the audience leads to a quick recall of an old song. One that was played often in the beginning of my time with my college church. Moments like these to bring the story full circle. And yet they add a new layer to build on. Some days these photos lay tucked away. But times like these I bring them out on display. They can say more about me and who I am now than I can explain. They frame my present.

I am blessed that I get to share these photographs with others. And look fondly at these moments.