A Memory Tucked Away

Tucked away in our basement is a memory.
It is a memory that is left on the wall much like an ancient hieroglyph.
Well, not quite that old.
It is a memory that signifies a season of life.

When my children were little, they enjoyed playing in the family room.
Chairs and blankets strategically placed made the best forts.
Fold-able playhouses were set up so they could play near me.
I would feign confusion as they hid in the playhouse; You were just here a minute ago.

Lego sets and action figures were scattered on the floor.
Puzzles and ponies lined up next to the kitchen.
Dollhouses and paper dolls kept them imagining for hours.
Crayons, colored pencils, and markers helped the budding artist in each of them.

But it was the basement that was the most fun.
The unfinished basement where Fisher Price roller-skates were put on.
The unfinished basement where small bikes were ridden.
The unfinished basement where Nerf basketball was played with a net over the door.

As my boys got older, an adjustable basketball hoop was brought down to the basement.
When we got an actual hoop installed on our driveway, the old plastic one was moved.
They were ready for serious basketball with the rest of the boys in the neighborhood.
The adjustable plastic hoop was fine for rainy days; fine for two brothers to play.

Until they broke a fluorescent light bulb.
Until they broke another fluorescent light bulb.
Until they cracked a water pipe that was next to our well pump.
Until they got too tall to play basketball in the unfinished basement on a rainy day.

So they tried hockey.
Hockey with plastic sticks and plastic balls.
Hockey games that went from one side of the basement to the other.
There was even a goalie; the kind that is merely an image attached to a net.

The net was long gone after having seen too many slap shots.
So they did the next best thing.
They drew a goal post on the basement wall with chalk.
I would hear them in the kitchen as they scored and celebrated.

Then came the day that we decided to get our basement finished.
One third of the basement would be finished, carpeted, and furnished.
The other two-thirds would be for storage.
It would also be a workshop for my husband.

There is now a toy closet with all of my children’s toys and games.
The dollhouses, and action figures, the playhouse and the play kitchen are all tucked away.
There is another closet that has the electrical breaker box and storage bins.
On the back wall of this unfinished closet is the goal post that was drawn with chalk.

The goal has faded a bit over time but it is still there; I wanted it to stay there.
It is a memory in a closet from a time gone by.
A time when young boys broke a water pipe and broke a few fluorescent light bulbs.
It is bittersweet.

Have you ever really looked at your house?
Instead of seeing what is wrong, begin to see what is right.
See the memories that are tucked away in every corner.
Every imperfection tells a story.

The scuff marks on the hardwood floors from pushing the toy shopping cart.
The squeaks in the floorboards in just the right places that lend character to the house.
The hand prints going up the stairs that can be washed off only to appear again.
The nose prints on the windows giving evidence that young children live there.

The sippy cups that are still in the kitchen cabinets just in case.
The favorite bear and blanket that are waiting on the bed of the college student.
The bikes that are hanging up and the skateboard that is resting against the wall.
All memories of another time and place; all part of family life.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.
(Deuteronomy 6:5-8)

Take a look at your house and really see it for the first time.
Don’t see what is wrong with it.
See what is right.
See all the things that are very right.

Life is lived there.
Life is celebrated with all its joys and imperfections.
Every crevice has a memory.
Every corner has a story.

The story of your house is unique to you and your family.
It is not just four walls and a roof.
It is the stuff that legacies are made of.
It is a shelter, a haven of love for those that have been nourished within it.

Something is very right with your house.
Leave a scuff mark or two.
Leave the handprint on the wall.
The little fingers that made them will soon grow up.

A bit of nostalgia is fine every now and then.
You are making history in your house.
You are making memories to tuck away in a corner.
You are raising the next generation there.

Really look at your house.
See the life that is being lived there.
See the treasure that is all around you.
Cherish the story that you are still writing within its walls.