What is your earliest memory? How old were you? How clearly are those images burned into your brain? Early memories create questions for some and clarity for others. Early memories are often questioned, especially when they are formed before the age of five. And yet, before the age of five is exactly the time period my earliest memories have their genesis. Every time I reflect on these memories, I wonder what makes them so vivid, so clear. I think I may have an answer.
The earliest memories I have are when I lived in Lubbock, TX between the ages of 2.5 and 3. Seriously! Let me share with you just a few of those memories:
- I recall one Sunday afternoon after church, my father literally “wringing the neck off a chicken” and seeing the chicken run around the back yard, banging into the fence without a head. I also remember that a bit later, that chicken was our lunch.
- I vividly remember that vacant lots framed our house on either side and the property lines were defined with concrete blocks. I recall how one day I ran to the block on the right side of our yard closest to the street and pried it up only to be terrified by the presence of a coiled black, red and yellow snake! Yikes!
- I recall sitting in the church of which my father was the pastor one spring evening when a strange man entered the building from the rear and boldly approached the platform and whispered something to my father who then excitedly told the congregation to take cover because a large tornado was approaching downtown Lubbock.
- I recall friends and tricycles and Halloween. I remember my pet boxer and how he “washed my hands” before lunch with his prodigious tongue.
- But perhaps the most vivid memory from that period of my life is one that still haunts me to this day. It was the day my baby brother was still born.
What does this have to do with being a Recovering Bapticostal? I believe it has everything to do with the meaning of those early memories. You see, I was almost 3 years old. For nine months, I had lived in anticipation of the day when a new sibling would inhabit our home. All of our family members – immediate and extended – were excited about the day I would have a brother or sister. Needless to say, I was elated! It was the day I was told that God would bless us with a baby!
Faith like that fills families with hope and anticipation. Faith like that encourages happiness. Faith like that means that everything will be ok . . . Until it isn’t. And then Faith like that sometimes fails to fill the holes left by tragedy and trauma.
I truly believe that sometimes tragedy sears certain life experiences into our psyche which sets into motion the need to make sense of something senseless. All of my life, I’ve reflected on those clear, vivid memories and all of my life I have worked to make sense of the meaning that accompanied those events in light of our shared tragedy. For over 60 years now I have worked to make sense of those events. For over 60 years now I have fought the simplistic Spirituality that demanded we all “accept that it was God’s will” – that He scripted my brother’s death and that there was purpose and meaning inherent in those tragic events. The longer I live and the more I ponder that period of my life, the more I move away from a belief in a God so far removed from the lives of His creation that He would coldly pluck a life from a family with nary a blink.
The Bapticostal in me demands that I blindly accept. The questioning little boy demands a deeper, clearer more compassionate explanation. Perhaps that is the reason I have so many memories from ages 2.5 to 3 years. Perhaps.
Peace!
Mark E. Hundley
