Have you ever asked yourself the question, “If my house caught on fire, what would I grab?” I have. I have a horrible habit of picturing horrible situations happening to me. So I picture the fire, and I picture myself grabbing my precious possession. But this question came alive on May 12th. It was the day after Rex was released from the hospital, we stopped at Papa’s to get necessary things for the week, just the week. Unfortunately, we found out that we would have to grab anything we could, and say goodbye to everything else. In my little Yaris, we crammed as many of Rex, Clark, and Floyd’s possessions as we possibly could, and said goodbye to the rest. I went into my Papa’s room and quickly scaled my eyes to see what precious memories I could try to pack. There were so many things that my heart screamed for. Things of my grandma’s I had been waiting years for my Papa to release. But he was never quite ready to completely kiss his love goodbye. Six years after her death, he still had her purse in his closet. All her scarves, all her jewelry I used to run my fingers through as a little girl, letters exchanged and treasured between her and my grandpa, as their love began to ignite. And I knew that I was not going to be able to take it all, I was going to be able to take hardly anything, so I grabbed what I would be able to share with the boys. Our grandpa’s belt buckles (he was a Texas folk) and my grandmother’s photo albums. As I look through the albums from the 20’s, 30’s, 50’s, I realize I never got the chance to hear the stories of Grandma’s days in Catholic school; I never knew the stories behind her family, why she stopped talking to her brother. And I noticed that I also grabbed one of my mother’s albums. One from high school. And I got to see her heart, and her purity. The adoration of my Papa and grandma’s eyes, as they watched her prepare for prom; the pride in grandma’s smile as she went on to discover the world after high school. No matter what she is now, my mom was a child once, and she was beautiful, full of life and purity-she was truly lovely.
And I felt the Lord hold me in that moment, telling me how proud he was of me; I felt the Lord squeeze my heart and hold me snug to his chest,
You did it. You counted the cost. You set yourself aside, your desires for good things and good memories, and good treasures, and sought after me and taking care of My Boys.
And we drove off, kissing Grandma and Papa’s home goodbye for the last time; saying goodbye to treasures locked inside, some easily replaced and many completely irreplaceable. But the cost is worth it. It is truly worth all of it. The cost was a painful deep, but the memories I have with our grandparents will last forever, and my God embraces me, and whispers melodies of comfort and understanding. He tells me how real the cost was. He edifies my heart’s cry; because, how real was His cost? God of All must know the feeling of true, treasured loss. In those moments of pain, I remember the cross, where God watched his Only Treasure in pain and sorrow. And I can remember that my pain is real and I can remember that My God knows, understands, and sees the reality of my pain. I can accept the cost of the call, because, surely, He has.