I suppose it happens more as we age because we have more memories in our storehouse, but surely each of us holds certain sights, smells, tastes, sounds, or touches that kindle something deep within. I have mine, I hope you have yours.
The sound of a dove cooing in the early morning takes me back.
The whir of a sewing machine, the feel of fabric and thread, takes me back.
The first dive into the cool water of the pool takes me back.
Lemon cake with lemon frosting takes me back.
A quiet library filled with books takes me back.
The walk up a flight of stairs and into a sanctuary of God takes me back.
Certain hymns take me back.
What is family truly if it isn’t a museum of memories? What role is more important than to be a curator of the collection?
…..memories ought to be planned, memories ought to be chosen, memories ought to be put in the budget, memories ought to be recognized and given the proper amount of time, memories ought to be protected, memories ought not to be wasted, and memories ought to be passed down to the next generation. Edith Schaeffer, What is a Family?
Wow, let’s not miss this one. Let’s be careful about curating a museum of memories for the children in our homes, the children in our care. Let’s be mindful of the tastes we place on the table, the way we approach meals, the beauty in our homes, the walks we take in God’s creation, the way we celebrate birthdays and special days and ordinary days. We are curating a museum whether we like it or not, and it’s less about taking pictures of it to post somewhere than it is about living it. And if you listen to most adults reflect on their childhoods, it was the ordinary life that settled in and created the storehouse. Of course the big days are remembered, but the little days perhaps mattered the most.