A Treasure Chest

I'd shared in a previous post that my parents recently put their house on the market. They had exactly 2 private showings. The second couple to walk though made an offer. My parents accepted.

God even dropped a fabulous rental home in their laps! They get to live in it until their new home is built. This gorgeous rental property, situated on a beautiful, large wooded lot, is going to feel like a 6-month vacation!

Don'tcha just love it when God flings open the doors and pushes you through? There is no doubt that He has orchestrated this entire move, and it's so exciting to think of the ministry opportunities and memories that await Dad and Mom in their new home.

However, things have been happening much quicker than any of us had anticipated. And we're all left with the task of sifting through nearly 32 years of memories.

It's probably no secret that I'm a sentimental sap. And my parents would be the first to say that I come by it honestly. So it's understandable that the boxing up of my parents' belongings takes time...patience...sensitivity. Afterall, it's not simply loading everything into a box, sealing it shut, and moving it to a new locale. Nor is it filling a dumpster and starting over. It's the remembering...it's the weighing of the past. In some cases, it's the forgetting of the past; it's the moving on and pressing forward.

I'd written in my previous entry that when it comes to letters and cards and notes, I'm a saver...as are my parents. I found my mom sitting on the floor of my old bedroom yesterday, surrounded by years' worth of letters and pictures and poems. She was reading them once again, determining what to keep and what to release.

There was my orginal handwritten award-winning Mother's Day essay from 1983. There was the poem my aunt had written the first Christmas my grandpa spent in heaven. There were birthday cards and anniversary cards. There was the tribute my dad read at my grandma's funeral. There were cards announcing my pregnancies with our first two sons. There was children's artwork and newspaper clippings of family achievements.

There in my old room, sitting next to my mom, I felt like we'd unearthed a treasure chest. I was struck by the love and history that surrounded us. I was reminded of the family stories that span generations. And I was newly grateful that my parents have modeled what it means to walk with Jesus. Despite our sinfulness, failings, and shortcomings, they've shown us that God forgives; that He can be trusted; that there are no regrets in following Him; that He is worth it.

I thank God for the memories, traditions, and everyday stuff of life that have pointed our eyes to Him over these past 32 years. I hear the stories, I read the letters and poems, and I'm mindful that His grace has been sufficient for my parents and beyond. And as I look ahead, I strongly desire that my life and my testimony are evidence of the same. Oh, how I long for our boys to watch their dad and me and gain a strong sense of God's faithfulness. Despite our mistakes and failures, I pray He uses us to reveal His love and grace. And I pray that they will want to love Him back with their whole lives.

Oh, a house is just a house. It will fade away. But the Christ-centered traditions and memories will pass from generation to generation. Oh, that we'd be faithful to tell those coming after us the glorious deeds of the Lord; that they would set their hope in Him and not forget His works, but keep His commandments.

This is our prayer.