The Pictures We Never Took

There’s something about going home.

Not the place where you currently pay bills or rush through your mornings, but home. The place where your childhood still lingers in the corners.

Home, where I once ran through the backyard, chasing after dogs that always seemed faster than me. Home, where my siblings and I laughed until our stomachs hurt, argued over the silliest things, and somehow became best friends again before the sun went down. Home, where a pot bubbling on the stove could announce supper long before anyone called our names. Home, where the pictures on the walls quietly whispered stories I’d almost forgotten.

This week, I found myself there again.

One afternoon, my mom, my cousin, and I sat flipping through old family albums. Every page unlocked another memory. We laughed at hairstyles that should have never existed, outfits that were somehow fashionable at the time (including the one that had everyone in stitches—the day twelve-year-old Melody showed up dressed like somebody’s grandmother(purple dress below)because Grandma had picked out my outfit! I don’t think I’ll ever live that one down.) and photographs that captured moments none of us remembered until they stared back at us from faded pages.

For a little while, time stood still.

And yet, as beautiful as the moment was, I couldn’t help wishing more of the family had been sitting around that table. The reason for my visit was already wrapped in the sadness of saying goodbye to a loved one, and life—with all its hurts, misunderstandings, busy schedules, and complicated relationships—had quietly stolen what could have been another treasured memory shared together.

It made me think.

As we begin walking with Paul through his letters, the first stop is Corinth. Before Paul addressed spiritual gifts, worship, or deep theology, he addressed something much closer to home—division.

I plead with you… that there be no divisions among you.” (1 Corinthians 1:10)

“I follow Cephas.”

“I follow Christ.”

The church was becoming a collection of camps instead of one family.

Isn’t it amazing how little humanity has changed?

Sometimes the greatest distance between people isn’t measured in miles, but in pride, wounded hearts, old arguments, or words that were never spoken. Families know it. Friendships know it. Churches know it.

As I sat looking through those old photographs, I realized something. One day, today’s moments will become tomorrow’s memories. The question is: Will we allow today’s hurts to steal tomorrow’s memories?

Paul’s appeal to the Corinthians wasn’t simply to agree on everything. It was to remember that what united them in Christ was greater than whatever threatened to divide them.

Maybe that’s a lesson worth bringing home.

As for me, I want to collect more memories than misunderstandings, more laughter than silence, and more moments around the table than reasons to stay away from it.

Perhaps you do too.

So today, make the call.

Pick up the phone. Send the text. Offer the apology. Extend the invitation. Forgive, even if it’s only the first step. You may not be able to fix every fractured relationship, but don’t let pride rob you of moments you’ll never get back.

One day, someone will flip through the pages of your family’s photo album. Do what you can today to make sure the memories they find are filled with love, grace, and togetherness.

After all, that’s exactly what Paul was fighting for in Corinth… and it’s still worth fighting for today.

If I were standing behind the camera today, I’d say, “Everybody in! No hiding behind the tree, no standing off to the side!” Ready? One… two… three… Cheese! 📸 Because life’s sweetest snapshots aren’t the ones where everyone looks perfect—they’re the ones where everyone is together.

Come on, everyone… squeeze in. There’s room for one more. No camps. No sides. No divisions. Just family. Ready? One… two… three… “Cheese!” 📸 I think Paul would have smiled for that picture.

Photogenic

XOXO Merry Melodious Melody