"It is finished in beauty.
It is finished in beauty.
In the home of evening light.
From the story made of evening light.
On the trail of evening light."
                   ~Navajo Prayer

Our family has lived in our house for nearly twenty years coming here when our oldest son was just two years old. We have what some tell me is a rare neighborhood where people really know one another by name, know the workings of one another’s lives, the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows. For some time it has been a neighborhood of many generations and our block parties could contain an infant and an over-ninety. It is a rare and wonderful gift.

One such over-ninety passed on last year. She was vibrant until the last couple of years, being one of the first to uncover her garden. She walked, once a week, to the bus stop several blocks away to meet friends downtown for lunch. Her house now stands empty and on the market and today there is an estate sale. For some reason I am filled with emotion over it all. You see, she was quite the expert on Plains Indians and had artifacts and books that were cataloged and displayed in her home. The lucky children in the area were invited in and treated to stories of these first people and the importance of their life here in the Midwest. My hope is that those precious things fall into the right hands, the hands of someone who will understand, not only their importance, but the love and pride with which they were kept safe until now.

But my emotion comes from more than the concern over these valuable things. It comes from the little, ordinary things of the everyday….the pots and pans, the dishes,the aprons, the garden tools. Will the person who buys them recognize the love with which they were used? Will they, in some way, honor the one who owned them? It is an irrational emotion, I know, one that could lead a person to a terrible habit of collecting. And yet, I of course came home with a 9×13 pan and several lovely cups and an apron. And then also the wine glasses, etched in a dainty pattern. When I use them I will remember Karin and what she brought to our neighborhood……her strength, her intelligence, her meticulous love of all things green.

And then there is the baptismal gown that I found in an upstairs bedroom. I never knew she had children Who wore it? Why wasn’t it passed on to someone in the family? How can it be lying here for strangers to buy?

I don’t know what I will do with this tiny, yellowed cotton dress edged in lace with buttons so small they seem useless. But some place, someone is walking the earth who was welcomed into the family of God while wearing this dainty gown. I will hold onto it. I will keep it safe. Maybe someone will need it for another baptism, another welcoming, another beautiful walk through the world.

Have a restful weekend………….…