Visiting my grandchildren, making memories for our cardboard boxes. Here’s a favorite blog of mine from last summer. I’ll be back with new words Thursday morning.
Been waist deep in a brown cardboard box of hidden memories today, gleaming jewels of family togetherness and celebrations, hidden in an old bent up discarded box from Chief’s office.
Brought two of these boxes home from Alexander City and they just sat for a few years. Didn’t even know what was inside. Chief had a unique filing system. You could never throw away a magazine or newspaper because he might have filed away a poem he had written, letters he was writing, history notes on Alabama courthouses, letters from a friend, or even money.
But this beat up torn box was crammed full with photographs of our family and his family. He always loved his years in Vermont, teaching English at Montpelier High School, his house two houses over from the capitol building. He always talked about how he loved Vermont and his friendships there. In the box was a photo of him standing in his yard, the capitol building of Vermont standing stately behind him. I’m so proud of this photo!
Chief in his yard in Montpelier, Vermont, the capitol building viewed behind him.
“Shoebox photos are discovered treasures of another time,” says my cousin Candy. “Building blocks of memories: new, forgotten and remembered. Photos command our thoughts to expose an image beyond the black and white.”
I have been overjoyed with these photos this afternoon and can look at them and remember all the love in our little family. When I first moved to Roanoke, when my grief was almost too heavy to bear, I couldn’t have looked at these photos with out weeping. But now they are glorious memories stirrers, creating images and scenes and conversations in my mind as I remember the events surrounding them. The majority of them are black and white and I love the character shown on the faces. One of the photos of Chief looks just like our grandson, Alexander. Can’t wait to share these photos with my grandchildren. I’m only half way through the box so more treasures tomorrow.
One of the treasures — Our last family photo taken in April of 2001 at the University of Alabama. Rosalyn died in March of 2002.
Howard Thurman defines memory as “one of God’s great gifts to the human spirit without which neither life nor experience could have any meaning.” Memory helps us with our faith in God as we recall his faithfulness and blessings throughout our lives. I think when we learn Bible verses as children, those verses guide us through our faith, and give us a foundation for our belief in God. Our faith is strengthened when we repeat God’s words and remember his ways. When I attend church with my grandchildren, I love to watch their innocent faces as they shut their eyes and seriously recite The Lord’s Prayer during the church service.
Our memories make us who we are. Our memories inspire us. Our memories are connected to the world and all her travelers who pass through and affect our lives. Some touch us emotionally, some we touch emotionally, briefly or long term, these encounters are etched in our memories like a biography of our life.
I love when a memory we had buried deep in our minds, triggered by something as simple as a song on the radio, comes boiling up with all its beauty and passion. Had lots of those moments as I slowly looked through the box of family photos.
My mother, Rosalyn McMurray; her mother Margaret Lane, known as “Big Ma” by her grandchildren; and my older brothers, Paul (left) and Jim. My mother wrote on the back, “look at our matching eyes.”
I love talking to my three brothers about our childhood and the memories are always different even though we all experienced the same event. They are sometimes surprised with all I remember but since I’ve been writing this blog the last few years I’ve learned how to be still and quiet and search my life’s memories. And I’m grateful for all of them, the good, the bad and the ugly.
I think memories have healing power from the happiness of the past. Love doesn’t die when our loved ones are gone. God has given us the capacity to remember them and our time together, the capacity to use our memories to help us weather the sad times. Sometimes our memories make us cry but they are glorious tears of God’s promise of a heavenly reunion.
Memories are snapshots of our lives forever printed on our minds. So get out your shoebox of photos and travel through time with your family.
“There must be always remaining in every life, some place for the singing of angels, some place for that which in itself is breathless and beautiful.” ― Howard Thurman
Ponderings from the Porch Swing 
2 responses to “A cardboard box of memories…”
I was truly blessed to be a student of Thomas B Saunders and the editor of our Montpelier HS yearbook when he was our advisor. I visited at his home with other friends & he ate dinner with my family at times. I can still hear his voice & remember him always standing when I had to interrupt his class. What a wonderful gentleman he was. I am happy I stayed in touch with him by phone & mail having spoken to him a few weeks before he passed. Glad he had you to love & be loved
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Thank you for your kind comments! Chief loved his years in Vermont and talked of them often. He made life long friends there. He was a true Southern gentleman and I miss him every second of every day. I long for him with every beat of my heart. Happy afternoon.
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