The Point

Take from the altars of the past the fire-- not the ashes.

Jean Jaures

It matters to me that my grandparents lost their wonderful brick house.  I would love to slam the dark green screen door one more time (even though I would likely get in trouble, again, for doing it).  I would love to linger in the fragrant air around the lost lilacs and yellow roses. I would love to ascend the steep narrow stairs to the cool dim upstairs and try on a few hats.

What matters more to me than the house though, is what I learned from my grandparents.  Over a lifetime of watching them and their responses to varied heartbreaks and hardships, I saw a constant reaction:  strength.  And as a result:  peace.

And I know why.

My grandparents life was marked by righteous choices and service.  They knew what mattered.  They believed in God.  They forged onward and with integrity.  

While I would love to show my children their brick house, my childhood playground, what I want more is for them to learn who my grandparents were.  What they believed.  And how it sustained them.