Memory Lane

I've been taking a quick trip down memory lane this afternoon, as I have unpacked a few boxes that still linger in the garage from my recent move. Moving from an apartment to a house has been so wonderful!! I am so blessed to be in this great house - in a terrific neighborhood, too. But the joy of unpacking has long left me, and occasionally I stub my toe on a box that has refused to come into the house.

So on this Sunday afternoon, I decided to get through at least 2 more boxes - and might I say, mission is now accomplished. However, I can't just unpack a box...unless it's towels or something. No, I have to look at everything in it - and heaven forbid it to be a box of old cards and letters that are much too precious to discard - because I have to sit down and read every one of them. The first box was a breeze - just stuff that needed to be stored away in closets. But the second box...yeah, old cards, letters, a photo album from 30 years ago - and my very first scrapbook. Well, this has proved to be a long afternoon. I had to not only re-read all the letters, but turn every page in the scrapbook. Oh my.

This is the kind of scrapbook that you had to either glue or tape things into - my, how times have changed. The tape I had used is now brown and fragile, and has long lost it's stickiness, so as I turned pages, things fell out onto the floor.

I will admit, I kept some strange things over the years. There are newspaper clippings about odd animal situations...like a mistreated pony that was rescued, and a 2-headed goat. There are articles about excavations on a local Indian reservation, and even the headlines of Elvis' death.

But then there are birthday cards from relatives that passed on to Glory years ago. There are some certificates of achievement from elementary school, and recognitions from the festivals I attended when taking piano lessons. And I even kept the certificates handed out at the end of every VBS.

But one of my favorite things is something I made - either in Vacation Bible School at my church, or in art class at school. (Might I add this disclaimer...I'm not an artist.) This little piece was apparently important enough to me to keep. I look at it now, and can't for the life of me figure out why. I'm not even sure what it is!! It could me a mouse with pink wheels, or maybe a fuzzy Volkswagen with a tail!! As you scrutinize my clever artwork, please be kind - as I was probably only 4 or 5 yrs old. I would have no proof that I actually made it, except someone was kind enough to write my name on it. And please note the lovely border - ric-rac in rose tone. Yes, those were the days.

It's times like this I wish I could pick up the phone and ask mom all kinds of questions. Things I don't remember, but sure wish I could. My encouragement to you is to never tire of hearing the stories. You know the ones...you've heard them a hundred times...and think you have every line memorized...you roll your eyes when they start in on it again. But if you still have your parents on this earth, thank God for them; and then ask them how they fell in love....and ask them about the day you were born. Ask them what they have learned through the years regarding love and courage and strength; and soak up the wisdom and insight like a dry sponge. Listen to the stories, friends. Trust me, there will come a time when you would give your pink-wheeled mouse to hear them just once more.