when things of old tell a story for now...

A thrifted set of measuring cups...Grandma Fern's rocking chair...the chipped and worn shoeshine box on the school table...

The jar of manna...Aaron's staff, budding...a pile of stones from the Jordan...scars in the hands...

...different lists, many similarities.

Tools for guidance and instruction, devices for drawing near to one loved, rememberances lest we forget, means to secure life.

It's good to have history strewn throughout the house.  Old utensils, chipped and dented devices used by people of another generation, visual reminders that the things from the past season and give new eyes to live in the present.

God uses all sorts of things to keep me focused.  I often get blurred vision because I'm focused on the wrong things and the wrong thoughts.  That's why old items are important. 

The measuring cups are on a shelf in the dining room - a reminder to me that food has always been important for strength and life.

Many times I've retreated to Grandma Fern's rocking chair with a fussy baby in my arms or a sad daughter needing her mommy's ears, or when I needed a place to cry and talk with God.

The old shoeshine box that the children and I see and use each day.  Some young boy, from some point in the past used this very box to earn a living, for himself and maybe his family.  Now we use it to hold pencils and erasers, notecards for sending to people we've thought of and prayed for, Scripture verses to memorize and Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest for when we need a reset.

Old things remind us of what was and how those things season the present and help us to move toward the future.

The Israelites had devices for remembering.  The manna - food from heaven; a staff for steading; stones piled up so that the people would remember and curious children will ask the questions of remembering; and there are Jesus's scars that gave us life.

Perhaps I will meaure out some flour for bread with the old measures, just so I can remember that others were mothers caring for family. 

I'll hug my boys and girls, rocking them again in Grandma's rocker.  Hold them near a little longer.

When Monday comes again and we all clamore to the school table, we'll run our hands all over the box, putting it to work once more.

And I'll read again, remember again what Christ has done for me.  I'll remember that He brought me to surrender and that I can live with the joy and freedom of obedience, the joy and freedom that two scarred hands hold out to me.

Praying, dear reader, that you will do that same.