Certain toys always bring back memories. All of us, I would guess, remember the first bike that we ever had. Mine was a dark green mean machine (akin to the Green Machine, but not three wheeled and not anywhere near the ground) with a banana seat and yellow handle bar grips. She flew down the gravel driveway throwing up dirt and rocks as if I were putting the world behind me in a cloud of dust.

Our first (and only) video gaming system - the Atari 2600 - showed up one Christmas Eve after many beggings and pleadings to our parents. My brother and I wiled away the hours in front of the TV, the Atari projecting only two colors onto the screen - orange and green - blowing up Invaders from Space, or defeating each other in Technicolor baseball. Atari came with two types of joysticks (I always used to laugh at that description for the controllers - almost pseudo-sexual) one was square and looked like the gear shifter in a car without the nob, and the other was a small rectangle with a circle on the end that could be turned this way and that for use in games like Pong, Warlords, Night Racer...

As much as I loved those two toys, nothing beats the creativity of Tinker Toys. Packaged in a can that appeared much like a large container of rolled oats, Tinker Toys were a portal into a new place of imagination. My parents used to say that they played with Erector Sets (that name sounds funny to me also - toy makers must be really marketing for adults) and Lincoln Logs. Erector sets take a lot of time and effort with countless directions and maps and Lincoln logs are limited in the ways that they can be arranged, but Tinker Toys - the world is your oyster! The round pieces can be wheels or support columns, spokes or even eyeballs. From each of the round pieces pencil like sticks could be inserted to add on the next level of creativity. Tinker Toys could absorb hours and hours of life with great joy (and without joysticks).

I remember one afternoon we kids had been kept home from school because of one of the frequent blizzards that visited us during the dark winters. Snow days were the best for us kids because little was required (by parents) but much was expected (by kids). The parents hadn't made up a to do list so we had the day to play outside, not likely because of the forty-five inches of snow that fell per hour (and the -50 F wind chill), or we could play inside. We usually chose outside if we could, but on this day, the weather outside was frightful and the toys inside were delightful. We played with G. I. Joe soldiers, model airplanes, a buzzing version of football where these plastic football players moved across a metal board by vibration (still to this day one of my favorite games) - and then we got to the Tinker Toys. After dumping all of the pieces along the floor, we slowly assembled what would be the Taj Mahal of Tinker Toydom. Of course the origianal Taj Mahal took 17 years to erect and was built in memorial of Mumtaz Mahal, the wife of Shahjahan, who died during childbirth of the couple's fourteenth baby. We built the Tinker Mahal in 17 minutes and had no babies during the process unless you count my sister coming in with announcement that "Ken and Barbie had just had a Cabbage Patch Doll they named 'Geneva Gena.'

Just as we finished putting the finishing touches on the masterpiece, we hear that voice from the kitchen - we knew it was coming - sending out the alarm that dinner would be served in five minutes and that meant we had to put all the toys away. After much complaining, about five seconds worth, that we needed to keep the palace up so that Geneva Gena would have a residence worthy of her name, Mom gave us the look that said, 'save your breath, you might need it for the eating process.' It was pointless to argue. So, with great grieving, my brother and I began to dismantle the Tinker Mahal piece by piece while Ken and Barbie, along with their newborn, mourned near the side. There were so many dreams that we had for the rooms of the palace. As we disassembled the rooms, the hopes and dreams of those stories faded into the background. By the time the house had been dismantled, we had already moved on, but there is always that memory of what the Tinker Mahal looked like. Fortunately, we still had the pieces to build something even better the next time.

These last few weeks I have felt the same thing here in Rockford, Illinois. Two months ago we announced to our congregation that we would be moving to Australia where I had accepted the call to be the chaplain at a Lutheran high school and part of a five point parish near Plainland, Australia. When we told the congregation, the feelings were mixed, bitter was the point of the dreams and hopes that we have for the congregation that we won't be able to be part of (physically that is: as part of the body of Christ, we are all in this together, right?), excitement at the prospect of a great new opportunity. I can deal with those emotions, but two months ago, it wasn't really real, do you know what I mean? Because I didn't have my greencard yet, the new call was just a ship on the horizon; we could only see the briefest top of the sails.

This week, I got the good news that my greencard had come through. The government of Australia had deemed me worthy to place my feet on the sandy soils of OZ. That's when it got 'real'. Not that we would be turning back anyway, but at this point there was no hesitation to where we would be next. Then, I received an e-mail from the President of the Lutheran Church of Australia, Queensland District who said, 'get yourselves here as quickly as possible.' With the news of the floods, our help will be invaluable.

That made it even realer (I know that's not a word, but stick with me while I add more vocabulary to the English language.)

So, this week Christine, the girls and I have been preparing our house for departure. The basement was first. Piece by piece all the memories of our past have been taken off the walls - the flags, the mugs, the photos - with each memory removed and carefully prepared for packaging I find myself feeling like we are dismantling life - life as I've always known it, and with that feeling of dismantling is a surreal understanding that all of life is change. Sometimes it is painful (almost always it is) but with the pain is sure and constant sense that even in the dismantling of the present, the blessing of God continues to place us where He needs us next and most. The fear that comes with change is replaced with a sense of peace on a walk where God reminds us that even though we disassemble a life here in the United States, the same pieces that we are packing are available to us wherever we go.

I will tinker with the emotions that come with that understanding of new life.