Precious Memories

I was going through an old box I found in the attic. You might call it a box of memories. It wasn’t a box of memories when we stuck it up there, it was just a box of junk we were moving to make way for some new junk. All of this I suppose my great-grandson will find 30 years from now and call it a box of memories. Unintended time capsules. I found paper with my mother’s handwriting on it. Years before she died, she had sat down in this same chair I’m sitting in, at this same table, writing just as I am. Inside she must have felt the same things I feel now—hope for the future, concern for her family, daydreams of past life cycles, voices and scenes from long ago. Thoughts of death would have been far from her, though it was nearer than she knew. I found an old board game that my grandson and I invented ourselves. We laughed and played and had no cares at all when we were together that way. Oh, he’s a young man now and I sometimes wonder if he remembers how special those days were. How special we were. In my heart he’s still special. When I see him, I can still see that little boy he was—the one that couldn’t sit close enough to me, that clung to my leg when I had to leave, that made me laugh so hard my eyes leaked and my sides hurt. And that made him try to make me laugh even more. I found an old school notebook my little girl used. What an amazing mother she has turned out to be! I used to worry about making the right decisions as her dad, because I wanted her to turn out right. It may have been just God’s grace, but look at her now—what a beautiful, loving, capable mother and wife. And don’t forget this—they both know who their real Father is. Same Father as my own mother. My Father. Funny. Dad, daughter, grandson—all having the same Father. Here’s a big old Bible, too. In the middle is a family tree page that someone started. Goes back several generations. Lots of blank lines for other people browsing in the attic. Someone I don’t even know will read my name, maybe his great-great-grandfather—and there will be a date after the dash next to my name. I’ll be with my mother then. And that won’t be bad, will it? I know my Father and His first-born Son, but I’ve never met them face to face. Maybe they have a box, up there, and it’s marked “Memories.” Maybe we’ll open it together, and it will be My Box. We’ll find things I’ve long forgotten, but my Father has saved and cherished, because I’m precious to Him. Maybe He’ll poke Jesus and they’ll both laugh at the good times they had watching me grow. I guess I’m still His kid, even though my body would argue with that. How I look forward to going to live with Him. But right now there are some memories I want to make down here. I have lots of empty boxes. “Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Romans 15:13 “For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord will by no means precede those who are asleep. For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And thus we shall always be with the Lord. Therefore comfort one another with these words.” 1 Thessalonians 4:14-18 Copyright © 2020 Larry Long