A box. A plain brown box. Simple in form and easy to assemble. Yet those four simple walls can hold a lifetime of memories.
Memories. Ordinary to most, but extraordinary to the maker. Priceless treasures of days gone by. The only key to unlock the past and all it’s joy, pleasure, gladness, hurt and pain.
A sight, a smell, a touch can send the past rushing back with alarming speed. Suddenly your life is transformed and once again you're living in that moment. And then with the same swiftness it’s gone. It leaves you wanting more, hoping, wishing, that somehow, someway you can relive those days. The days when life seemed to be perfect. No it wasn’t, but for a brief moment the sadness is forgotten and only the good is remembered.
Then reality returns and with it comes the realization that life will never to be the same. The deep ache threatens to send the tear ducts overflowing. Then it happens...the box flaps are open with the contents, those wonderful yet terrible, contents staring me in the face. I finger the soft fabric and swipe the dust particles from the wooden frame. And as I look at the brilliant red hair, the life-filled smile trapped behind that single piece of glass, I again remember. My brother looks over my shoulder, he remembers too. He loved more deeply therefore he hurts more intensely. His eyes light up and he begins to tell me a story. Our workshop becomes her garage, and instead of being surrounded by brown boxes, a bike, paint and sweatshirt crowd the small workspace. As he tells me the tale I imagined her smile, the look in her eyes as she looked at him. The pink and white paint splattered on the bike tire, the tire-tracked sweatshirt that showed her love for his sport. I look back at the picture and sadness washes over me. My brother turns his back and the moment is gone. All that’s left is a brown box, a sweatshirt, a picture, and a memory.
I close the box. Shut the flap on the former days. Once again I choke back the sadness that wants to run down my face. How can a single brown box contain such rich substance? My mind failed to grasp it; The power of a moment. The ability to remember. The shortness of life. The deepness of regret.
Yet there, in the midst of the sorrow there was joy. Joy in the things that were. Joy that everything was not forgotten. For I am convinced in every heartache there is some bit of happiness. And in this instance the happiness was found in a past that was lived.
Life is short. Our days are filled with memories.
God gives us moments. Let us make the most of them.
Live your life. Don't watch it pass. Use every opportunity to invest in the lives of those God has placed in your life. Sacrifice and pour yourself out. Don't hold anything back. :)
Make memories worth remembering.
This is what my Sister did. And I remember her with love and joy.
"But in your hearts set apart Christ as Lord.
Always be prepared to give an answer
to everyone who asks you
to give the reason for the hope that you have."
1 Peter 3:15