It was a simple glance at a thermos bottle.
My husband had brought in from the car. I’ve seen it countless times, filled it with steaming coffee and rinsed it out at the sink after each use. Why was this time any different? Today, it brought back memories of Dad. He carried a lunch box and thermos of coffee with him to work. I didn’t see an everyday thermos; I saw yesterday with Dad.
I do not live in the past; yet God paints my present with deep memories of days gone by. In His mercy, God removes most painful memories of regret. In their place, He sends the lingering smile of my sister Donna, Mom’s voice in long-distance calls or Dad welcoming me home at the kitchen screen door.
Lest we forget, scriptures contain many references to memorials and remembrance.
“And He took bread, gave thanks, broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘This is My body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me. In the same way He also took the cup after supper and said, ‘This cup is the new covenant established by My blood; it is shed for you (Luke 22:19-20 HCS).”
Join me as I meander back through memories to a stairway in the house where I grew up. We lived in a two story prefabricated house with two bedrooms upstairs and two below. Mom and Dad had the master bedroom on the ground floor and the other down stairs served as both a bedroom and a TV room. My sisters, brother and I rotated use of the upstairs large bedrooms and gained access by use of a beautiful wood stained staircase. I gave little thought to our stairs back then but now would love to ascend again.
The stairway served us well as a storage area, telephone nook, and entranceway. It may surprise you to learn my family used stairs for storage but that was a major function. Mom washed our clothes with her ringer washer, hung them on outside or basement clotheslines, folded them and then placed them in neatly folded piles on the stairs for us to carry upstairs and place in dresser drawers or to hang in closets. We procrastinated and nearly tripped over them on jaunts to and from our room. Mom nagged; we made promises we rarely kept.
I cannot forget long telephone conversations with girl and boy friends sitting on the steps with the phone and six foot chord giving me privacy in a partly secluded area. Party line frustration and puppy love chats later gave way to a private line and an extension phone in my room and true love marathon conversations with my future husband. Yet, the memory of staircase drama is as fresh as today’s headline news.
Run your hand along the varnished railing to the bottom, notice Grandpa Ford’s old shaving cup turned upside down, secured and stained to serve as a handle and ornament. Ascend again, sit down, bounce from step to step on your hinny, and feel the joy of a child. Scurry back up and slide down the handrail as a tomboy displaying bravery. Day ends as I wrap up my stairway sentiment; I climb the stairs into my room, turn off the bedroom light, leave the bedroom door open a crack and slip into my bed. Dad has a nightlight ceiling light burning at the stop of the stairs; I can rest safe and secure…