I just tackled a box in my closet that has been there since we've moved and it was like opening a time capsule. Inside, I found a love note I had written to The Hubs the week Pinkalicious learned to roll over. Some old ribbon from back in the day when you'd wrap presents and then curl the ribbon up like permed bangs. And my books. Books that had once made me want to be a missionary. Books that made me a better wife. A brand-new parenting book thought lost that was replaced by a now well-worn copy on my shelf. Books from my attempt at a M.A. degree in English. Books to teach students so that they will think about the world. Books to teach me how to teach students to read and understand. A book to teach me about my grandpa, penned by my grandma. A poem exhorting me to treasure Christ more than a golden egg.
What do you do when you discover yourself in a forgotten box? The things that meant so much that have been put away, are they that way in my heart as well? Do I need to keep them to remember myself? I feel their weight in my gut.
I ponder these questions, wondering what I am made of and if it even matters. And I remember Pinks crying at the table when she learned that we can't take anything with us when we die. "I just love Kit so much, Mommy. She's my special doll," she wept in my arms. That day we talked and rejoiced together over treasures on earth and treasures in heaven. Matthew 6:19-21. I do treasure Christ more than a golden egg. I do treasure Christ more than my golden books. And through Him, I will treasure Christ more than my golden self.
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