Like apples of gold in settings of silver,
Is a word spoken at the proper time.
- Proverbs 25:11
Because I lost my mother at an early age, reaching the ripe old age of seventy last year was a bit of a triumph. Now that my father is gone, the realization has hit - as my brother recently told me - our generation is "queued up" to be next at the finish line. A rough patch of health issues and family trials has me understanding a lot more about my dad's penchant for nostalgia and his wistful recounting of the old days. I know now why my mother wept for her daddy years after he was gone.
The love never dies.
Many times I've longed to revisit the familiar and gentler days in my own life, vignettes dipped in gold, rough edges mercifully softened by time. God is the faithful editor of our life story. He covers the sins, redeems the failures, and restores the brokenhearted.
I yearn for those I've lost along the way, some of whom are still alive. Others, like my parents, are gone but left a rich heritage behind. My father gave me Mother's study notebooks after her death in 1994, simple spiral-bound notebooks you can find in most discount stores. Along with the careful Bible notes she kept in her beautiful handwriting I found random notes on stray pages: a long-lost phone number, a prayer request from a fellow church member, a grocery list. Orphan Scripture references.
Notes from daily life recorded in the moment.
Some were quotes or memorable statements of others that had touched her enough to write down, ones like this:
God accepts you the way you are, but He loves you too much to let you stay that way.
Those books are among my treasures. They are living testaments to the essence of the woman, touching her soul, remembering her spirit, teaching me from beyond the grave. Now that I'm officially an old person, I realize the importance of sharing our hearts with the people we love.
