We all seek

to hold onto the magic moments of our lives, to hide them

for a season, in the corners of our hearts.

Even as it

is poured upon us, we try to stash a measure of the joy

in which time does not permit us to revel.

We attempt

to gather and file many of the little happinesses that

are sprinkled along our paths; we claim we want to save

them for a time when we can savor them. We take

photographs. We keep journals. We store well the

highlights of our days.

We say we

live for the day when we can relive those precious

moments in which our hearts were warmed and our souls

refreshed.

We must

take care - as we imagine ourselves curled up in

tomorrow's favorite easy chair, before a glowing winter

fire, hot chocolate in hand, relishing anew the joys of

the spring times of our lives - indeed, we must take

care that these remembrances are not usurped by some

tragedy, loss or pain which demands equal space in our

memory banks.

The

memories we make when tragedy strikes, pain hits, or

loved ones are lost - those memories, too, must find

their rightful place in the heart-shaped storage center

of our lives.

We have no

choice but to let them in, and frequently we do so with a

certain resolve to never pull them up again. We want

painful memories out of sight and out of mind, and so we

file them away to collect dust next to the private annals

of our souls.

Time goes

by.

We live

with full awareness that if we are ever again to access

the joy we stashed there we must come face to face with

the sadness that also lurks in the shadowy places of our

hearts. And so we stay busy. We seek diversions. In our

leisure, we dance in the embrace of cowardice. We start

to lose ourselves...

To refuse

to go again into the dark corners of our hearts, pull

back the curtains of the soul and let the sunshine in on

all that we are, have been, or ever hope to be, is to

refuse to live.

For it is

in these hidden places that the very essence of life is

stored. Fear not to take regular inventory. Acknowledge

the presence of all that rests there. Appreciate the

balance that will evolve. Celebrate the vision that will

become uniquely your own. Accept the peace that comes as

you discover the truth that time alone can teach -

truth hidden in the corners of your heart.

I read part

of what I have written here today to my 10-year-old niece

the other night to see if she could comprehend what I am

trying to say. "I think I get it", she said.

"It's like on `Diagnosis Murder,' when this girl's

best friend was killed. She couldn't let herself think of

her friend at all because it made her so sad. But before

the sad thing happened there was lots of fun and she

couldn't think about the fun times either."

Hmm... 10

years old. I hope she doesn't lose her insight.

Please

don't think I am saying it's not okay to deny things for

a while when tragedy strikes. Denial can serve us well

for a season, but only for a season. Denial, carried to

extremes, can rob us of much that we should keep and

treasure.

A broken

marriage, crumbled friendship, the loss of one's health,

and a great many catastrophic events leave us no choice

at times but to recoil. We find we must deny until we can

cope better; actually, denial is a form of coping.

I know

there are some things that need to be buried and never

resurrected again; but be careful when you do that. Be

careful that the burial ground does not lie between you

and the many treasures you do want to dig up at some

later date.

Life is

meant to be lived, lived fully and completely, and if you

are lucky enough to make it to that easy chair by the

fire one day, do not hesitate to relive the highlights

and the lowlights.

Most

remembrances, even the sad ones, bring with them a

measure of wisdom and joy - maybe even a giggle

or two. And unlike so many of life's other so-called

treasures, those stashed in the corners of our hearts

cannot be taken from us. Just be careful what you put

there... You have more control over such matters than you

think you do.

[Address

any response to this column to: Mary Jane Holt, P.O. Box

246, Gay, Ga. 30218]

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