There is a box that follows us every time we move. Between moves I completely forget about its existence, but halfway through packing I always stumble upon it. The top of the box is usually filled with non descript office supplies, and as I dig deeper into the box, voila, I find them. It's my box of newspapers and magazines that people saved for me after 9/11.
Yesterday in Sunday school we talked about Abraham and someone brought up the point that when God made covenants with Abraham He had him build an altar. That way when he would pass by that area again, he would see the altar and remember. In our culture, we don't build altars, we keep mementos. There's a booming tacky tourist industry to prove just that. Take a trip? Buy a keychain.
Well, I think this box is one of my altars.
Each time I find it I think, "this time I'm going to throw it out." But I never do. I open the box and the newspapers are a little more yellow, the magazines seem a little more dated. I'm reminded that time has trudged on like it is prone to do; that one day, more of my life will be after than before. And then I'm reminded that my greatest blessings have come in the last thirteen years- my husband and three children.
With each move, He takes this opportunity to get my attention. To make me pause and remember where I was and where He has brought me. To remind me of His faithfulness. To whisper once again, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." So for now, the box comes with us.