This morning started just like any other morning. I get out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash the sleep out of my eyes. Once I am fully awake, I grab my warm and fuzzy robe and head to the kitchen for a morning cup of coffee. I reach in the cabinet, and I pull out my favorite coffee cup. Because I’ve had issues with my elbow bothering me for a couple of months, I add a scoop of Collagen to my coffee, which has seemed to have helped. Even though all of those steps are my regular routine, this morning was different. This morning had me reflecting and in tears before I could even sit down at the table. It all started with the coffee cup. The coffee cup itself is nothing special. It is just a standard coffee cup, but it used to belong to Joe’s mother, who passed away a couple of years ago. Every time I reach for the cup, I feel a connection to her, and I will say something to her like, “you would be so proud of ……….” This morning, I thought, “wouldn’t it be great if I also had a cup from my grandmother” who also passed away a couple of years ago?
Then, I remembered that I had a small collection for her “shoes.” I am talking about the decorative kind of shoes that are ceramic, glass, wood, metal, etc., and sit in curio cabinets. I hurried to the cabinet (built by my father) and started looking over the shoe collection. My idea was to pick a shoe to sit on my desk so the granny could be with me throughout my day. Since my grandchildren are always over here, I didn’t want to pick one that could be broken. Finally, I spotted the perfect shoe for me to use. It was a pair of metal shoes, but I only took the one out of the cabinet.
The shoes look handmade and are heavy metal. They are very ornate with carvings, and they each have a hole at the top of the shoe, which makes me think that they might have been a Christmas ornament. The shoes look like a Dutch clog, which is usually made of wood (I have one of those too), but this one is cast metal.
I slipped the shoe in my robe pocket and started to rub on it as I walked to sit down at my table. That is when the tears began to flow. I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house when I was growing up. Riding horses, playing in the old root cellar which doubled as a haunted house, crawling through the 2-sided closet that came out in another room, and listening to her bedtime stories are all treasured memories that I will never forget.
My grandmother was also my Sunday School teacher at church. She never missed a Sunday at church and would go and pick up some of my cousins so that they could attend church also. Gracious, it still makes me smile to hear her very “shrill” voice singing at the top of her lungs to the old-time hymns. She even was the song leader one time when our regular guy was sick. None of the other men would lead the service, so granny hopped up and sang away. After church each Sunday, we would all head to her house for a big Sunday dinner, and I could then play with all of my cousins.
My grandmother left a significant legacy. She touched a lot of people and led many of them to the Lord. I know that in a couple of generations, no one will remember her, which makes me sad. But, they might know the Lord because of her, and that will be her legacy.
A lot of dictionaries say that the meaning of legacy is: a gift by will especially of money or other personal property. But, I found a different version that says: it is something handed down from one generation to the next.
I remember reading about the Israelites who would tell the stories about their ancestors escaping from the bondage by the Egyptians. They would tell of the trials and tribulations that they faced as they wandered in the desert. And, they would tell how the Lord provided for them time and time again.
37 Because he loved your ancestors and chose their descendants after them, he brought you out of Egypt by his Presence and his great strength,
21 then you shall say to your son: ‘We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand;
3 So Moses said to the people, “This is a day to remember forever—the day you left Egypt, the place of your slavery. Today the Lord has brought you out by the power of his mighty hand. (Remember, eat no food containing yeast.)
The Passover was a time of remembrance. It was a time to retell the stories of their ancestors and to keep the legacy alive. Even though the Israelites were far from perfect, they still knew God and left a legacy that would live for generations.
So, what kind of legacy are you and I leaving for the generations to come? Do our children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren see us reading the Bible, going to the Lord in prayer, and living a God-filled life? That is a sobering thought when you think about how your life can impact the lives of generations to come.
1 O my people, listen to my instructions. Open your ears to what I am saying, 2 for I will speak to you in a parable. I will teach you hidden lessons from our past— 3 stories we have heard and known, stories our ancestors handed down to us. 4 We will not hide these truths from our children; we will tell the next generation about the glorious deeds of the Lord, about his power and his mighty wonders. 5 For he issued his laws to Jacob; he gave his instructions to Israel. He commanded our ancestors to teach them to their children, 6 so the next generation might know them— even the children not yet born— and they in turn will teach their own children. 7 So each generation should set its hope anew on God, not forgetting his glorious miracles and obeying his commands. 8 Then they will not be like their ancestors— stubborn, rebellious, and unfaithful, refusing to give their hearts to God.
My grandmother left an amazing legacy that touched me and many others. I am now trying to live in her footsteps with the hopes that I can do the same.
Have A Blessed Day!