Across the Bridge

Time can change the way you see a place.

Even the places that are most familiar.

I was walking down to the stream I’d crossed every day of my childhood. But now I was a mother with two young sons.

John and Peter rushed ahead, eager to explore Mommy’s old stomping grounds. “Don’t run so far ahead!” I called as they raced down the grassy slope.

Too bad so much of it had changed. I hardly recognized the area. Land development had swallowed up my aunt’s old house and my grandparents’ farm. The orchard, the beehives, the fields of melons and tomatoes were now taken over by asphalt and stores. Only my parents’ property remained untouched, if threatened—a few acres of isolated woods holding back the urban sprawl.

I caught up and took John and Peter by the hand. The boys stumbled over brambles. “When I was your age this path was clear because we all walked it so much,” I explained to them. “It’s sure not the same anymore.”

It wasn’t just the landscape that was different. I was different too, and in surprising ways. Just my being here was proof.

As a teenager I’d rebelled against a strict upbringing. Too much hard work, too little spending money, too many rules—at home, at school, at church. Too many things I was expected to do and believe just because adults said so.

I couldn’t wait to leave it all behind and do things my way. At college I stopped going to church and focused on fun as much as my studies. I got married young—too young—and thought I’d never have a reason to look back.
 
But things hadn’t turned out the way I planned. When my marriage ended it was my parents who were there to take me in while I put my life back together.

Now that I’d matured, remarried and had children of my own, all those lessons about hard work, saving money and God’s love made sense. Life experience had taught me the things I was too young to understand as a child. They’d taught me to appreciate what I had and to thank God for it. Now I wanted to teach my sons the lessons I’d once resisted. 

“Look, Mommy! There’s a bridge!” said John. 

I followed his gaze and winced. I recognized the bridge just fine. It stood strong across the stream where I used to wade. On the other side of the stream was the hill that had once led to my grandparents’ farm. Now it was littered with trash and abandoned grocery carts from the big box store that stood at the top.