It had to be done. The door beckoned me but I really didn’t want to descend those steps. Into the basement I went to begin the arduous task of creating three piles: 1. Throw Away   2. Save   3. Ponder “Throw Away or Save.”

Large envelopes and boxes of preschool art, early elementary days, grade cards, notes, and photos. Oh, lots and lots of photos. I steel my heart strings and feel productive as my Throw Away pile magically grows larger and larger. I look at the head and foot boards for our boys’ bunk beds, touching the wood and marveling at how old the matching dressers appear. It hardly seems possible that so much time has passed, and yet it sometimes seems as if our three children were bouncing through our front door a lifetime ago.

As I move a box over to the side, I see it. Black marker on the basement floor. Written in elementary age printing: “Rob and Michael was here.” With a little lightsaber etched next to the sentence that doesn’t really care about grammar quite yet. My eyes mist with a few happy tears as my soul whispers, “Yes, you were here. And Elizabeth was here. You were here and each of you left an indelible mark on my heart.”  Ours certainly was not a perfect home and I was not a perfect mother. But I know I loved deeply- so deeply that now as I stare at this small snapshot on my basement floor, my heart aches. Aches and smiles at the remembrance of a beautiful, difficult, incredible, tiring season of life.

I move to yet another corner of the basement and find some old senior picture snapshots, wallet size.  The girls’ hairstyles are big- the side curls waving at me, Farrah Fawcett-like.  I turn them over and they are written to my now husband. I read with a grin how he tutored various female friends in Physics and Chemistry. The comments of what a “nice guy he is” and someone of strong character. I marvel that there is a season of his life that I am not a part of. It makes me feel wistful that I will never know all of him completely. But, can anyone?

Enough sorting for the day, I ascend the steps and notice a pair of mourning doves on our back deck. They sit side by side in the warmth of the afternoon sun. They seem perfectly content to bask in the silence yet their stillness communicates so much. After several minutes the larger of the two flies off into our neighbor’s yard. The remaining partner looks about and then eagerly follows. I get busy with some kitchen chores and happen to glance out the window much later. They are back, sitting side by side. Returning and Remembering.

I go upstairs to put a mound of laundry away and look at our bed. It’s all made up and almost looks as if no one has slept there. No one has laughed there, cried there, uttered hurtful words there, or made beautiful love there. I look closer- focusing a snapshot in my mind.

The surgeries are done, my exterior healing complete. It’s mid-day and we’ve been taking care of weekend chores for hours. A Saturday of “to- dos” that need to be completed and checked off, only to be replaced by dozens more. He calls me to come upstairs. I need to “take a look at something.” I grumble to myself as I begrudgingly climb the stairs, wondering to myself what can possibly be broken, soiled, or misplaced now. And there he is- in our bed. He looks me in the eye and pats the covers that are tucked all around him. “Come here.” As long as I live, I will always remember the love and joy on his face, and the undeniable feeling of being so unconditionally loved in that moment.

Returning and Remembering.  Returning and Remembering all that God has done with all the tiny seconds of our lives that weave beautifully into a story crafted just for Him. I am grateful.

Psalm 143:5

“I remember the days of old; I meditate on all that you have done; I ponder the work of your hands.”  (ESV)