I’m currently sitting in an empty house (empty of people), surrounded by boxes of junk. Some of the items which currently hem me in can be saved. Cleaned, given new life, restored. Some, frankly, need to be thrown out. Coat hangers bent beyond all belief. Old plastic bags.
Sitting here in my dusty fort, I’m becoming acutely aware that hidden amongst the rubbish are some treasures. This isn’t my house, but I know that within these boxes lie memories of past events, meetings, fleeting moments in time.
Everyday objects, no doubt. But everyday objects which speak of a significant moment.
Peeling back the layers of memory in my mind, I discover more and more of God’s fingerprint on my life.
A word spoken by a friend. A song heard for the first time. A sunset. Time with loved ones. Time spent seeing the world.
Like the objects we so easily discard, at the time I don’t always realise the importance of those moments. Their significance. It is only months – sometimes years – later, that I realise their meaning, and God’s movement in them.
Blowing off the dust and reading through the scrapbook of our journey allows us to do this.
God longs for us to see his working in our lives. Longs for us to recognise the moments where he stepped in, to bless us with grace and mercy.
The beauty of being able to remember these events after they have happened is that we can taken from them hope, expectation and reassurance.
God says, “Remember when I did that? Remember that moment? Remember the comfort, peace, grace and safety you felt? That’s how much I love you, and that hasn’t changed. It never will. Because I love you.”
“May the strength of God pilot us, may the wisdom of God instruct us, may the hand of God protect us, may the word of God direct us. Be always ours this day and for evermore.” St. Patrick.