It sat for weeks in my garage, collecting dust. I couldn't let it go but I wasn't sure where to put it. My mother’s sewing cabinet. When someone dear dies, those possessions they leave behind become precious. My mom was a person of very few belongings. She lived on very little income. This was her choice and I respected her for it.
What money and things she received usually passed straight through her hands into someone else’s. She put Matthew 6:19-21, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also”, into daily practice.
One of the things I most treasure of hers is the old sewing cabinet. It’s not a priceless antique and it’s a fairly simple looking piece of furniture. And some of you will think my memories that are associated with it are morbid. You see, it’s where she kept all her last instructions for me – life insurance, memorial service details, paperwork. And each time I went home, we would go to the little desk and she would pull out the drawers and show me where everything was.
My mom and I had viewed her death as just one more long trip. We believe this life on earth is the journey and at the end we are returning home. She was excited about it and I was able to be as well because I knew it represented complete freedom from pain, peace and joy and reunion for her.
Also, my dad died when I was twenty and I am an only child. So all those details she worked out were her way of protecting me as much as she could. She didn’t want me to have to deal with them after she was gone and I was grateful for that.
But there was something else. Last night I was sitting on the porch trying to figure out why the little chest meant so much. Then I remembered the year it came.
We were not wealthy by any means but we always had enough and Christmas was always an exciting time at my house because my Daddy would spring little surprises on us. I would climb into the back seat of the car to go to Sunday School and there would be a box of Christmas chocolates. One year he bought little iced cakes decorated with sugar holly and candles from the bakery just for fun. We would drive to the country and fill the car with holly and mistletoe.
I was about five years old the year the truck pulled up in front of the house and delivered the package. It seemed huge to me and, thinking back, it must have been at least six or seven feet tall. I was beside myself to know what was in it. I knew it was for Mother and it sat in our kitchen, the only room that would hold it. For days we stared at it, trying to guess.
I pleaded with Daddy to tell me what was in it. And guess what – he did! He impressed upon me the need to keep the secret, but he told me it was a sewing machine in a refrigerator box. I felt so important, sharing this confidence.
Thinking back now, I am so humbled by that trust. It had to have been a very dear and expensive gift for him to give. And the surprise must have been so important to him. And yet he trusted me with it. And I kept it. And it further cemented the degree of love and trust between the two of us.
So now, the little cabinet sits on my porch, a reminder of the love, the Christmas memories and the trust.
What money and things she received usually passed straight through her hands into someone else’s. She put Matthew 6:19-21, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also”, into daily practice.
One of the things I most treasure of hers is the old sewing cabinet. It’s not a priceless antique and it’s a fairly simple looking piece of furniture. And some of you will think my memories that are associated with it are morbid. You see, it’s where she kept all her last instructions for me – life insurance, memorial service details, paperwork. And each time I went home, we would go to the little desk and she would pull out the drawers and show me where everything was.
My mom and I had viewed her death as just one more long trip. We believe this life on earth is the journey and at the end we are returning home. She was excited about it and I was able to be as well because I knew it represented complete freedom from pain, peace and joy and reunion for her.
Also, my dad died when I was twenty and I am an only child. So all those details she worked out were her way of protecting me as much as she could. She didn’t want me to have to deal with them after she was gone and I was grateful for that.
But there was something else. Last night I was sitting on the porch trying to figure out why the little chest meant so much. Then I remembered the year it came.
We were not wealthy by any means but we always had enough and Christmas was always an exciting time at my house because my Daddy would spring little surprises on us. I would climb into the back seat of the car to go to Sunday School and there would be a box of Christmas chocolates. One year he bought little iced cakes decorated with sugar holly and candles from the bakery just for fun. We would drive to the country and fill the car with holly and mistletoe.
I was about five years old the year the truck pulled up in front of the house and delivered the package. It seemed huge to me and, thinking back, it must have been at least six or seven feet tall. I was beside myself to know what was in it. I knew it was for Mother and it sat in our kitchen, the only room that would hold it. For days we stared at it, trying to guess.
I pleaded with Daddy to tell me what was in it. And guess what – he did! He impressed upon me the need to keep the secret, but he told me it was a sewing machine in a refrigerator box. I felt so important, sharing this confidence.
Thinking back now, I am so humbled by that trust. It had to have been a very dear and expensive gift for him to give. And the surprise must have been so important to him. And yet he trusted me with it. And I kept it. And it further cemented the degree of love and trust between the two of us.
So now, the little cabinet sits on my porch, a reminder of the love, the Christmas memories and the trust.
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