Wrestling With The Past

I stumbled across Tracy Chapman's song "Fast Car" yesterday. I remember when it first came out in the late '80s. I tried not to like it because it was one of those "big, important songs," and because the verses had that annoying over-an-over riff. But it was a song that could not be ignored.

I still can't. The context I found it in was as part of a music video put together by some Jewish students. They actually don't do too bad a job, but the song is much bigger than them, and even through their antics I couldn't help by pay attention to the song.

A while back I posted a commentary on what makes great art. By that definition this song is it. I've never lived the life she describes in her song, but that song makes me start to understand how it feels. It is so well produced it just grabs you by the collar and won't let go until it's done. It's clean, it's honest, and it musically reinforces the story it tells. It's uncomfortable. It is great music.

Last night we had a couple young men from church over for dinner. They were part of a ward activity to help them prepare for being missionaries one day. We agreed to host them; Terhi made an "Australian" dinner, while I told them about the country and some experiences.

In getting ready I've been digging through some of my memorabilia and doing some online research. While digging around online I found a website for alumni of my old mission and decided to register. Since then I've recieved a couple emails from former companions. Old memories have been bothering me all week.

I have to admit that I'd be more comfortable if it had all stayed buried. I enjoyed my mission. I learned a lot. But truth be told, I was a lousy missionary. It's hard to relive the more pleasant memories of my mission without revisiting all the guilt that goes with it. The whole thing has left me rather unsettled. I'd like to think I've improved since then, but sometimes I really have to wonder.

I guess some things are best left in storage.