Until recently I had a small, round china jar that had belonged to my grandmother sitting on my vanity. Complete with lid, it was just the right size for housing stray buttons and bobby pins. Not exactly a family heirloom, I loved it anyway because it made me think of Grandma.
And when it was accidentally broken, try as I might, I couldn’t hold back a few tears.
I knew it was silly, but being the sentimental person I was, it was inevitable. Years ago when I took the Briggs-Meyers personality test it told me I was “the keeper of family traditions.” No surprise there. It also should have said “keeper of things that other people usually throw away.”
Not in the hoarding kind of way, but I do tend to keep things that hold meaning for me.
Christmas ornaments that my children made in elementary school.
Sweet misspelled notes from my past students saying “You are my best techer”. (No chance of getting a big head over that one.)
Thirty-year old birthday cards from my grandparents – just seeing their scrolling signatures brings a smile to my face.
My first diary complete with lock and key lest anyone try to pry into my nine-year old self’s private business.
Loose pictures, scrapbooks, pictures albums, framed pictures. (A lot of them bearing less than flattering hair styles. Note to Self- you do not look good in a perm.)
Why do I keep all of these things? Because all of them have the ability to whisk me back to a time and place where I felt loved. That is an amazing thing and one of life’s greatest treasures.
I am so thankful that God created me with the capacity to remember. Not everything that has happened in my life has been good. There have been plenty of tragedies and trials.
But I have the power to choose.
And the things that I choose to remember most are the gifts of love that God has showered in my life. For I know that every good and perfect gift is from the Father.
I thank my God every time I remember you. Philippians 1:3