Last weekend my siblings and I began the process of cleaning out my mom’s house. She has been in memory care for over a year and won’t be returning home. My brother, sister and I agreed to meet to begin the process of going through 40+ years of clothes, furniture, knick-knacks and photos. The task seemed daunting and if I am going to be honest, I was dreading the trip immensely.
As I prepared to make the solo, 5-hour drive to Northern Kentucky, my husband, the Music Man, hugged me and said, “I know you are not looking forward to this trip. Remember, it’s all just ‘stuff.’” I knew he was right. The truth is, I didn’t feel a huge attachment to much of the ‘stuff’ in the house. But the nostalgia of the moment threatened to overtake me as I began the trip. So many memories fill that space. My dad built that house. We moved in when I was in middle school. I remember we found a snake in my bedroom the day we moved in. That little scaly critter had hitched a ride inside via a box of my things that had been sitting outside in the yard waiting to get loaded in and unpacked. I hate snakes. I really hate them. So that intro to my new bedroom was rocky at best.
I looked up the definition of nostalgia. It is a “longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations.” In other words, it is a time or a place that gives you all the feels. This home was that place for me.
Upon arriving at the house, my brother and sister met me in the front yard to take a few photos. Then we went inside to get to work. We started with all of the bedroom closets. Oh my goodness! One thing this trip accomplished was to motivate me to put my own house (and closets) in order. Who knew that closets and dresser drawers could hold so much? But how fun it was to see what mom held dear.
There was the envelope simply titled, “Lori’s Poems”. Inside she had kept all of the poetry I had written to her over the years. Knowing that her memory was failing due to her dementia, my always organized mom left herself and us little notes, or breadcrumbs as my sister called them, to lead us to important papers or items of sentiment. She even left little baggies with each of the granddaughters’ names with a piece of jewelry made by her dad, my grandfather, in his jewelry shop in the basement of his home. Written on those baggies were instructions that each girl was to receive their piece upon their graduation from high school.
There were recipes written in both my mom’s and my grandmother’s handwriting, journals and bibles where she had written her thoughts, and boxes of photographs. There were so many photographs.
A very young Mom and Dad 
My sweet momma, two months before I was born. 
Easter 1973. Matching dresses by Mom.
There is an old Amy Grant song called, “Heirlooms.” The lyrics to that song describe perfectly how I feel about those photos. Those lyrics are:
Up in the attic,
Down on my knees.
Lifetimes of boxes,
Timeless to me.
Letters and
photographs,
Yellowed with years,
Some bringing laughter,
Some bringing tears.
Time never changes,
The memories, the faces
Of loved ones, who bring to me,
All that I come from,
And all that I live for,
And all that I’m going to be.
My precious family
Is more than an heirloom to me.
My family was not perfect. Over the decades and generations my family has seen its fair share of hardship through illness, financial challenges, divorce, and loss. But these hardships were offset with goodness, kindness, generosity, love and laughter. These people that I came from? They were real, human, and so very special. Their decency, patriotism, hospitality and love of God and country have made me and my siblings who we are. It has also influenced our own little families.
My great-grandpa Shotwell. He has his arm around my Momma. 
Rose Shotwell, my great grandmother, holding her son, my great uncle Clifford.
I have said a number of times to friends that my childhood was idyllic, and that it has seemed I have lived a charmed life. Here’s the reality. There is no such thing as a charmed life. But there is such a thing as living in the shadow of God’s favor. I am becoming more and more aware of his favor shown to me and my family. As a matter of fact, I have begun to ask God daily to pour his favor all over us. There’s a great verse in Numbers 6:25 (TLB) that says, “May the Lord bless and protect you; may the Lord’s face radiate with joy because of you; may he be gracious to you, show you his favor, and give you his peace.” This verse could easily become a prayer that you pray daily over yourself and your family. God’s favor is a gift that he is more than OK with us asking him to give us.
We aren’t done cleaning out my mom’s house. We all return in a few weeks. I am actually looking forward to going back. The treasure of these memories are calling me. Because as Dr. Seuss said, “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment until it becomes a memory.”