Wow, what a day it’s been!
Over the last couple days, we’ve been digging through and rearranging boxes and stuff in our bulging garage. We’ve also gotten rid of a bunch, and we’re not done yet–not by a long shot. Some of the items came with the house when we bought it as an estate about a year and a half ago. We have found several treasures amongst the “trash”, however, making the digging seem like a treasure hunt. Some of our own boxes have been packed so long, we’re opening them to find cool items we’ve forgotten we had.
Two days ago, my son and a couple of his buddies were outside watching the large neighborhood duck pond which backs our yard. They discovered, sadly, an orphaned duckling swimming around. They were quite concerned for the baby’s well-being, and decided to name it “Alfonso”–a great name, I told them, but it’s likely a female. They kept the name anyway. Since then, our family has kept an eye on Alfonso, and I’m happy to report that she seems to be making it on her own just fine. Not all of her feathered neighbors are pleased when she comes around, but she seems to be fairly confident in her abilities, and she’s eating well. We have no way of knowing what happened to Mama, but Alfonso is carrying on to the best of her ability.
Returning to the boxes–I spent the last hour or so pouring over yearbooks from my Junior High, High School and College years, and flipped through notebooks half-full of poetry, notes and prayers that I wrote during those years. Then I moved to photo albums in the same box which held memories of my wedding, as well as a friend’s wedding I was a part of, a touristy vacation in the London area, and a summer spent working at a children’s home in Mexico. Then I came across photos of my siblings and I, taken several years before one brother died. Precious memories. The find that left me in tears, though, were photos of a dear friend, accompanied by his eulogy, written by another friend. Everett was a dear soul, a brother to me. His scarred life vividly bore the healing power of Jesus, and he tirelessly shared that healing with any and all who crossed paths with him. You couldn’t help but be touched by God’s hand in Everett’s presence. Even on his death bed.
All of these seemly random accounts have gotten me thinking over the last couple days–what sort of legacy am I leaving behind? When I’m dead and gone, and people are digging through my “treasures”, what will they find? Will what I leave behind tell a story, or just be stuff for someone to dig through and toss away? Will it have meaning to anyone but me?
What am I instilling in my son, so that when I am gone he has what it takes to carry on with confidence and hope, whatever those around him may say or do?
Am I leaving behind a legacy of God’s hand on my life that will leave His unmistakeable print on those whose lives cross paths with mine? Am I making a difference in the lives of those around me?
On this step of our journey, I challenge you to take a good hard look at what your legacy will be for those you leave behind. I know there are a few things I need to take care of….