The time has finally come, after more than 40 years, for my parents to leave their home. Age, frailty, practicality and a host of other reasons have converged to bring the day we have all been dreading-emptying our family home and moving on.
We ponder what we'll take with us. My parents will need only a small portion of the furniture and household goods that fill their spacious house. Years of accommodating three growing daughters and later on seven grandchildren, not to mention relatives and friends, take their toll on the inventory of a household. There's just too much stuff and most of it will have to be given to charity, disposed of, and left behind.
My sister has her heart set on Mom's special dishes, not because they are valuable but because she treasures them as reminders of happy times. I hope she will also take the stained glass panel in the front door, a special project of my mother's years ago. Then there's the dining room chandelier that I would love to have. Also, my mother's pots and pans, for the sake of the thousands of meals she prepared in them.
But when I turn my mind to consider what I really want as my inheritance, I'm stumped.
How do I capture the essence of a childhood spent happily? Of a family who loved one another, albeit imperfectly, but sincerely? It's beyond the power of material goods, which serve only as tangible reminders. Favorite photographs, a set of books, a side table, what are these as remembrances of life's journey? They can not breathe life into the memories I cherish of the flesh and blood creatures who lived and laughed and worried and planned and loved one another under this roof.
If I could have anything, it would be the intangibles. It would be the sound of my mother's footsteps in the dark as she came up to bed, bringing the last of the day's laundry; the wonderful sense of adventure that Saturdays held, with no school and my father home all day; the sizzle of garlic and tomatoes on the stove as my mother prepared dinner, and the familiarity of sitting down together to share it; the anticipation of waiting for my father's red Chevy to turn the corner and pull up our driveway, knowing the great grin and warm hug that would be mine.
Can I keep the bottom drawer of my mother's bureau? For years it held perfumes, colognes and enough scent to open a counter at Macy's department store (although she rarely used any of it). Opening that drawer was like letting an aromatic genie out of a bottle, mysterious and entrancing. Or may I take with me the loose, squeaky floorboard under the carpet at the head of the stairs? Or just the comforting sound of it? Can I keep the sense of freedom I enjoyed from the roof of the backyard treehouse, with the spring winds rattling the bare branches and all the neighborhood spread before me?
I'd like to have forever the tears that came from hearing my father leave the house in the dark hours of the early morning for another exhausting, sometimes dangerous day of work. It was sad to know his and my mother's daily sacrifices for the sake of our family, but it was the kind of sadness that is necessarily part of the joy of loving others.
If I could have just one thing as my inheritance it would be the enormous sense of belonging, of being safe, of being loved. Of knowing that someone else is in charge who can be trusted completely, who will always do the right thing, no matter the cost to self. Who would give life itself for my sake, so deep is the bond of love between us.
Are you wondering what any of this has to do with God? He is everywhere within it. The long years of love within our family are an echo of His love, a ray from the source of all love. If truth be told the love of my family is but a shadow compared to the brilliancy of God's love, it is a whisper of the conversation that awaits us in eternity. It is an unfinished thought compared to all understanding. We have lived only a courtship of love compared to the bridal feast God has planned in heaven.
Knowing these great truths, I have already received my inheritance. It encompasses all that I treasure, all whom I love, and it can never be taken from me. In eternity, these treasures will be perfected and go on forever. It is an inheritance that is my right, as a daughter of God, and with joy I claim it.
