The farmhouse of my childhood is no longer there. After my grandparents died, the property was sold, which was scandalous to me. How could Dad sell all my memories? On a visit back to the farm, I was mortified to see an old travel trailer desecrating the very place where the old farmhouse had long stood, now just a pile of rubbish off to the side. Upon one last visit a few years later, the new owners were building their own new farmhouse and memories for their children and grandchildren. The land was moving on. It was hard for me to grapple with it all; the farm and its many memories had played such a large part in my extrapolated imagination.

My childhood seemed untethered, with a feeling of being unconnected, almost like an orphan, from my past. The security of my place in the unending cycle of the generations of my family line was no longer anchored. There was no land and no one above me—I was now the surviving head of the genealogical line that would continue to the next generations.

Before I came to Christ, I stumbled across the following quote, which somehow found its way into a college class assignment:

A generation goes and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever. 
Also, the sun rises and the sun sets; and hastening to its place it rises there again. 
Blowing toward the south, then turning toward the north, the wind continues swirling along; and on its circular courses the wind returns. 
All the rivers flow into the sea, yet the sea is not full. To the place where the rivers flow, there they flow again. (Eccl. 1:4–7)

This was written by the very wise man, King Solomon. He followed up, though, with these depressing words:

All things are wearisome; man is not able to tell it. The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor is the ear filled with hearing. That which has been is that which will be, and that which has been done is that which will be done. So, there is nothing new under the sun. Is there anything of which one might say, “See this, it is new”? Already it has existed for ages which were before us. (Eccl. 1:8–10)

At some point, all of us will become someone else’s memory; life here under the sun will continue without us. Maybe something we write will endure for a generation or two. Or our image will be preserved as chemicals on photographic paper or digitally with electronic bits and bytes.

The conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God and keep His commandments, because this applies to every person. (Eccl. 12:13)

In 1972, after college, I surrendered to God, for my life had become meaningless and superficial. I stopped rejecting God; I ceased refusing to believe in Him. And my life changed. While Solomon could say there was nothing new under the sun, the statement concerns that which is “under the sun,” that is, life constrained by things of this physical world. But I took on a new life, the value of which is not limited to earthly thinking. I discovered the truth and reality of something new, namely what the Bible says:

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come. (2 Cor. 5:17)

While I felt disconnected at seeing my grandparents’ farm being sold and redeveloped, my connectedness with God kept me anchored, not in things under the sun, but in He who is “above the sun.” And I pray that all who come after me will also come to faith in Christ. Without Him, everything is meaningless, but with Christ, we become new in Him. Everything becomes new to us, and we are anchored in Him. That, I pray, is the heritage I leave behind for my children, grandchildren, and well into the future.