Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Never Know What You Will Find

As I mentioned yesterday, my granny died in December.  It seemed liked the final chapter of my childhood just closed.  My parents are now in the house, and we began sorting through eighty-six years of memories.  Loving all things retro, I received the dishes from the 40s, 50s, and 60s.  Little odds and ends, have found their way into my home, but the real treasure came in an Aigner shoebox, circa 1978.

I was going through the linen closet, an odd place for some of the items she stored.  Her organizational methods were changing as she aged, and you didn't know what you would find and where.  It made sense to her.  I pulled out this and that, and noticed most items belonged to my grandfather.  I modeled my papaw's fez for my husband.  Squealed in delight as I found several books that we once read together.  Then just as I was going to close the door, shoeboxes caught my attention.  Pulling them from the top shelf, I wondered what I would find next.  To my surprise, it was years upon years of my grandfather's sermons.

He wrote out his ideas on index cards and clipped them with paper clips.  I remember playing under the kitchen table as he worked on Saturday mornings.  If he could finish in time, we would watch Bugs Bunny together.  One particular morning, I made a request.  I wanted my own sermon.  I wanted it to be specifically on King David.  He was/is my favorite Biblical figure, and I wanted my papaw to tell his story.  This was 1976, and I was four.

Papaw wrote my sermon, and he found it very difficult to write.  He wanted to make special for me, a preschooler, but he also wanted to make it relevant for his congregation.  I told my husband the story, and I wondered how if I would be able to find the sermon in this burgundy box.

That evening I put the box on my bed and just stared.  How would I find it?  There were hundreds of packets of cards, and how would I find that particular one.  The only hope I had was faith and a little bit of hard work.  I stuck my hand inside the box and pulled out one sermon, and then my little miracle took place.  In my hand was a sermon from 1976 entitled, "The Bible's Biggest Sinner".  It is was a sermon on faith and redemption and grace.  It was mine.  My sermon.  I couldn't believe it.  I had my papaw's gift in my hands. 

Miracles aren't always grand and earth shattering, and sometimes they are found in quiet, simple places.  A little burgundy shoe box is my miracle.  It was a reminder, twenty years after my grandfather's death, that I was loved.

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