Trunks

Psalm 79:13 ESV

But we your people, the sheep of your pasture, will give thanks to you forever;

from generation to generation we will recount your praise.

My children gaze in wonder at the rare and amazing things scattered over my bed. It’s not Christmas but close. The looks of intrigue and curiosity flash in cyclical repetition as one item after another is added to the bed. Questions stream from their lips: what is that, who is that, can I have this… Spring has sprung and cleaning has begun. Our latest touch with the foster care system has left us noting the need for space and rearranging our house. This led to the need to find space. Although the young girl we watched for a couple weeks has left the shift took place, space must be found.

Even as I write the irony of my situation does not escape me. Throughout our marriage I have often lovingly teased Kelly’s mom. As we would often come back from her parents’ house with one bag after another with everything from Kelly’s Freshman prom dress to trash bags full of pristine stuffed animals, and some not so pristine. Yet, here I am with one box, one Rubbermaid, and one trunk full of junk. Everything from the mouth piece to my baritone (we borrowed the baritone), to my baseball card collection lies on the bed waiting for the verdict of its future. Some found themselves back in the box, others, to the trash, and others to some hidey hole my kids have found. My hotdog bank that sings Take Me Out to the Ballgame has a future on Devin’s side of the dresser, I am looking forward to hearing that over the next few years…

As item and photo is examined stories are told, adventures recounted, losses mourned. My children often beg for stories of when I was young. Longing to place themselves in the narrative of history. The cleaning spree this year has provided ample opportunity to tell stories about why a little boy found a certain item worthy of being hidden in a trunk and the same for the young man and why certain things are in a cigar box he received when his granddad died.

Recently our family has set aside the Saturday before Memorial Day to go and decorate the graves of grandparents and stillborn babies in Natoma and Hays. Remembering what God has taken and what God has given. Even as I have no memory of one of my grandfathers and the only memory of the other is crawling on his nursing home bed, I can give the stories I have been told, and how God worked even in men who never knew him. How he moved in the stillborn baby to press and push a daughter to think about eternity and him, finally submitting to him and setting the trajectory of her life.

We praise God for the good and the bad things of our lives. It is not enough to only do it in your heart and mind. Have you found someone of the next generation to do them to? If you think you have no stories to tell. Find a trunk and see what stories come out of it.

Coram deo