The present brings value only in our tomorrows
Unknown
“Write your stories,” I heard whispered in my heart. “Lord, I have nothing dramatic nor adventurous to write about.” I heard it again, “Write your stories.” “But, Lord, What would I write about,” I countered. “Remind people where home is. Write your stories.”
Vacuuming the floor could not have been the most spiritual moment to hear directions from the Lord. However, it is in those times He speaks the loudest to me. Feeling less than qualified to write my stories and even less adequate to talk about the home, I began writing anyway.
In the beginning, I had decided to write about everything we did right in our home- a checklist. That way, people could see exactly how to run a successful home, and I would stand out as a great homemaker.
Of course, with each passing day, my failed attempts at keeping a perfect house, kids, marriage, and clean bathrooms brought me closer to reality. God never asked me to write from a place of perfection. He asked me to write from a place of experience.
As I look back and read some of the stories the Lord has allowed me to share, I see His handiwork and how He has crafted my family, strengthened my family, and brought us closer through every trial, mountaintop, and story. They are footprints of our life that He has bound from cover to cover.
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“The Lord said to Moses, ‘Write this for a memorial in the book and recount it in the hearing of Joshua,'” Exodus 17:18. God wanted the stories to be retold to Joshua. Life is in the details. Your children are going to ask questions. The past will only have meaning if we record the present. They need a reference point on how to fight forward.
Joshua was going to lead one day. God knew he would need journals from those who had gone before him to help guide him in the way.
Our children need to hear about our faith fight. They need to know the times we stood long. They must listen to us retell the stories of early mornings and late evenings, about celebrations, victories, ordinary days, sunrises and sunsets. We must have documented how God showed up when all hope was lost; this is how they will win!
My kids write in journals, even at a young age. It could be more consistent, but they see the value. Charlotte scribbles lines and Eva writes down her thoughts – usually about pink ponies and ice cream, but it is a start. Her family makes the highlights quite often, and I love it.
My Grandma has kept detailed journals from before I was ever born. She records everything the family does. Reading through her journals is nothing short of digging out golden nuggets from the past; moments I was a part of yet knew little about the details. She keeps the date, weather, terrain, what they ate, pricing, and the day’s emotion.
I want to share a small snippet from one of her journal entries. It was written on the last day of their summer visit out west. They came to Pierre, SD, and built our new home on Dry Run Rd. My grandpa was a homebuilder in his early years and built each of his children their own home to raise their families. My father was quite the carpenter himself. Together, they built a place in the country that is forever engraved on my heart. A place so much a part of me we sought out the same type of world to raise our kids here in Tennessee. We found it.
May my grandmother’s words grip your heart and show you the value of the past. Your children are going to ask questions. Be ready to give them documents of their heritage.
Journal Entry – September 9th, 1993
Still windy and cold. We drank our coffee and warmed a biscuit. We went to say goodbye to Brittney and Kristen before school. They are big girls and growing up so fast. It was really sad. This is the longest we’ve ever had to spend with them. We all cried, but it was time to leave. They told us again how much it meant for our help on building them their new home. We were glad we could help. Bob’s toe is very bad (the old wood stove fell off the blocks and crushed his toe). We got water at the city park and left Pierre at 9 a.m. We went out Highway 34, same way to the new house; and turned onto Dry Run Rd—half a mile down the road, off 34, to the new house. Bob could see smoke coming from the chimney. So, Jim was there and had a fire going. We felt sad going by for the last time.
Virginia Stockdale (Grandma)
My father has told me often, “Sis, leave a trail a blind man can follow.” I wonder if letters from home taught him that. My mother and father have left tracks so deep I can walk in the ruts.
Remind your kids of growing up, friendships they cherished, funny things they said, and backyard picnics. Let them read – letters from home.
“And Moses wrote their goings out according to their journeys by the commandment of the Lord…”
Numbers 33:2
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