Faith Works 7-18-2025
Jeff Gill
All is not lost, even when it's gone
Jeff Gill
All is not lost, even when it's gone
___
Already, it feels foolish and self-indulgent to say this, but here goes.
There's a feeling of deep personal loss haunting me. It's over the impending demolition of Tom Sawyer's Island at Walt Disney World in Florida.
Actually, not just the destruction of the island, but of the Rivers of America attraction as a whole, including the Liberty Belle riverboat ride, the Tom Sawyer rafts, and Fort Langhorn with its escape tunnel to the riverside back to the barrel bridge and Harper's Mill. All of it is going to be taken down to build a "Cars" themed area as Piston Peak National Park. No river. No island.
Arguments about Disney changing rides and architecture are as old as Disneyland (c. 1955). I can spin this reflection around change, or loss. Change is an ongoing point of debate, because most of us don't like it, mostly, but I'm thinking more in terms of just the loss of something special, something personally meaningful, something valued that's now gone.
As I was thinking about how I wanted to say this, another memory burned to cinders: the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. If you've never been there, I am sorry. You will never see the North Rim I've known; I've been trying to get back for years, but I won't get there either. My family has some very special memories about that unique place, which is different from the much more visited South Rim. It's a thousand feet and more higher, open a shorter stretch of the year, and the whole Kaibab Plateau is a place apart.
But the North Rim's Grand Canyon Lodge, the dining room and viewing terraces and associated cabins and campground and camp store, are all gone. A wildfire flared up, swerved, and in a series of unexpected events was almost all destroyed last weekend.
No lives were lost. Given the size and violence of the loss, that's amazing. I am glad, truly, that no risks were taken to try and save these remarkable timber structures with so much history and memories built into them, such that someone died in the attempt.
And at Walt Disney World, there's nothing life and death there, either. Some executives looked at visitor surveys, time spent and money expended, and made a business decision. Delete Jeff's fond memories, and build something more kids will clamor to visit and convince families to come spend thousands of dollars. Tom Sawyer's Island was a throwback, a quiet place in the middle of a busy park, an almost passive attraction with cool tunnels going effectively nowhere, but interestingly. It was atmosphere, with no buzz to it. For some of us, that was the attraction. To a park manager, that may have been the problem.
Tom Sawyer's Island is being torn down; Grand Canyon Lodge and the North Rim camp store burned down. The church I grew up in was demolished decades ago now; my childhood home is sold and was gutted and renovated. Stuff happens. Grow up, some of you are saying. Get over it!
I know that's all true. I just met an old friend I see at church conferences not often, and he told me "I miss my hair." Things change. This is part of life as we know it. In fact, we seek some change: weight loss, increased fitness, developing knowledge and wisdom and deeper insight. Getting smarter is a change. Going on vacation is a change, for that matter.
We like the change we want; the changes we resist are the ones we call bad. Here is where Buddhism suggests all attachments bring suffering; as a Christian, I'm looking for a middle ground. Tom Sawyer's Island and the North Rim hinted to me something of the eternal, of Heaven itself in temporary, earthly form. My intention is to be thankful for the glimpses they gave me, and to stay mindful of how the only enduring good is yet to come.
I'll still miss them.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still got the Haunted Mansion. Tell him what you miss in this life at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.
Already, it feels foolish and self-indulgent to say this, but here goes.
There's a feeling of deep personal loss haunting me. It's over the impending demolition of Tom Sawyer's Island at Walt Disney World in Florida.
Actually, not just the destruction of the island, but of the Rivers of America attraction as a whole, including the Liberty Belle riverboat ride, the Tom Sawyer rafts, and Fort Langhorn with its escape tunnel to the riverside back to the barrel bridge and Harper's Mill. All of it is going to be taken down to build a "Cars" themed area as Piston Peak National Park. No river. No island.
Arguments about Disney changing rides and architecture are as old as Disneyland (c. 1955). I can spin this reflection around change, or loss. Change is an ongoing point of debate, because most of us don't like it, mostly, but I'm thinking more in terms of just the loss of something special, something personally meaningful, something valued that's now gone.
As I was thinking about how I wanted to say this, another memory burned to cinders: the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. If you've never been there, I am sorry. You will never see the North Rim I've known; I've been trying to get back for years, but I won't get there either. My family has some very special memories about that unique place, which is different from the much more visited South Rim. It's a thousand feet and more higher, open a shorter stretch of the year, and the whole Kaibab Plateau is a place apart.
But the North Rim's Grand Canyon Lodge, the dining room and viewing terraces and associated cabins and campground and camp store, are all gone. A wildfire flared up, swerved, and in a series of unexpected events was almost all destroyed last weekend.
No lives were lost. Given the size and violence of the loss, that's amazing. I am glad, truly, that no risks were taken to try and save these remarkable timber structures with so much history and memories built into them, such that someone died in the attempt.
And at Walt Disney World, there's nothing life and death there, either. Some executives looked at visitor surveys, time spent and money expended, and made a business decision. Delete Jeff's fond memories, and build something more kids will clamor to visit and convince families to come spend thousands of dollars. Tom Sawyer's Island was a throwback, a quiet place in the middle of a busy park, an almost passive attraction with cool tunnels going effectively nowhere, but interestingly. It was atmosphere, with no buzz to it. For some of us, that was the attraction. To a park manager, that may have been the problem.
Tom Sawyer's Island is being torn down; Grand Canyon Lodge and the North Rim camp store burned down. The church I grew up in was demolished decades ago now; my childhood home is sold and was gutted and renovated. Stuff happens. Grow up, some of you are saying. Get over it!
I know that's all true. I just met an old friend I see at church conferences not often, and he told me "I miss my hair." Things change. This is part of life as we know it. In fact, we seek some change: weight loss, increased fitness, developing knowledge and wisdom and deeper insight. Getting smarter is a change. Going on vacation is a change, for that matter.
We like the change we want; the changes we resist are the ones we call bad. Here is where Buddhism suggests all attachments bring suffering; as a Christian, I'm looking for a middle ground. Tom Sawyer's Island and the North Rim hinted to me something of the eternal, of Heaven itself in temporary, earthly form. My intention is to be thankful for the glimpses they gave me, and to stay mindful of how the only enduring good is yet to come.
I'll still miss them.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still got the Haunted Mansion. Tell him what you miss in this life at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.
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