Tag Archives: legacy

The Times, They Are A-Changin’

As a friend recently described a special envelope she had typically kept in her Bible for safekeeping; in this envelope was a list of significant events in her life, events that served as milestones in her family over a span of several decades.  In hearing her describe the joy she experienced upon discovering the list after having misplaced it for a period of time, it struck me that that list was a part of a permanent, even eternal legacy.  She will give that paper to her children as a record of momentous spiritual events in the life of her family.  Those events have eternal value.
Conversely, some things may contribute to our legacy but may not be a permanent part of it.   Just as we buy different kinds of clothing for different seasons, and we accumulate various types of supplies for particular chapters in our lives (baby bottles, children’s books, snow suits or sleds, pool toys, cameras, typewriters, computers, bread machines, even sound equipment that subsequently becomes dated), some items outlive their usefulness.   At intervals, we are compelled to sort through our “stuff” and give away or throw away things we no longer need (but to which we may have become attached).  This process is not always as simple as it sounds, as nostalgia can easily overwhelm us!
The challenge is to discern what is part of the permanent, eternal legacy of our lives and what might be temporarily vital but not carry lasting value.   With Aglow, we also face new seasons:  we distill what is and will always be part of who we are as a ministry, but we must lay aside the strategies that may have been pivotal in the past, but which no longer are proving useful or relevant in our current culture.   When God has used certain things to minister deeply to us, it can be very challenging to release those activities and approaches.   (Just yesterday evening, I was looking through a photo album and was overwhelmed with nostalgia at the sight of photos of our eldest two children when they were small; even their clothing was very dear to me, as it was passed down to their younger siblings yet ultimately given away or thrown away.  I remember how difficult it was to part with those clothes, as they symbolized the end of an era!  As a result, it was a bittersweet experience to gaze on those photos and wonder how those years had evaporated so quickly!)
The temporary things may CONTRIBUTE to the legacy, but they are NOT the legacy.   Jesus is our inheritance!   I am so grateful!  These days, I am continually asking God what has eternal value and what is merely temporary — what has outlived its season of usefulness — so I can focus on the eternal things.  Often, despite my earnest desire to move forward with Him, I find it challenging to welcome new seasons that, at least at first glance, seem unfamiliar and even frightening.   May the Holy Spirit empower me afresh to embrace the next part of my journey with confidence in His goodness and in the knowledge that He can be trusted to retain those aspects of the past that have eternal value!   Yes, we can agree with the Psalmist that we have a beautiful, eternal inheritance:  “The Lord is the portion of my inheritance, my cup [He is all I need]; You support my lot.  The [boundary] lines [of the land] have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, my heritage is beautiful to me.”  (AMP:  Psalm 16: 5-6)
I love this song by Amy Grant called “Heirlooms.”  Jesus is more than an heirloom to you and to me.  We can praise Him forever for that!

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Loss, Legacy, & Life

20170121_081936Recently I made an unexpected trip to assist my father in conjunction with a move based on safety issues and health concerns.   As usual when in my mother’s kitchen, I decided to bake my dad a pie.  During the process of rolling out the crust on my mother’s time-worn, decades-old pastry cloth, I suddenly found myself overcome with waves of sorrow rooted in the realization that this banana cream pie was the last pie I would ever bake for my dad while he was actually still living in the house he had shared with my mother for many years.   As the pangs of loss threatened to overwhelm me, I realized that, although my parents might be slipping away from me, they were leaving me an invaluable legacy that not even death will be able to plunder.

Baking a pie is really a simple pleasure and an easy task — or so I had thought when I was a small child.  My mother could be found baking pies in our various kitchens (we moved often) two or three times a week.  I did not find that remarkable at the time, as that process was a normal part of life for our family.   When my dad was out of work, my ever-resourceful mother continued to bake pies using the rhubarb that grew wild in the back yard.   One of my friends even preferred watching my mom bake pies to playing with me, which hurt my tender feelings.   I could not understand how such a routine activity could fascinate my friend to that degree.  (I discovered years later that her parents were alcoholics, and her mother never baked anything.)

When I was about ten, we were eating in a diner (a rare treat), and I insisted on ordering a piece of my favorite pie (sour cherry).  Despite my mother’s polite warnings that it might not taste like what I expected, I ordered that piece of pie.   To my chagrin, the crust was leathery, and the filling consisted of a few artificially-colored red cherries floating in a sea of corn syrupy, gelatinous liquid.   The light was dawning….

My sisters and I grew up by my mother’s side and learned to bake and cook as part of the ordinary rhythm of daily life.  Friendly and inclusive, my parents both came from large families and believed in including everyone else in our family.  That process involved hosting many overnight guests, inviting everyone imaginable to dinner, and even preparing food for parties of various types in our home (including my father’s office events). There was nothing my culinarily curious and talented mother could not do, and my sisters and I considered this lifestyle of cooking and hospitality as normal.   It never really occurred to me that few people ever reciprocated, or that it was possible  NOT to know how to bake something as simple as a pie with a good crust.  Cooking and eating together were ordinary and fundamental parts of family life.

Ultimately, I grew up and realized many of my friends could not cook and bake or were afraid to try preparing anything new.   Their mothers had never allowed them in the kitchen, or their family circumstances had not been conducive to inviting people over.  I also noticed that most of the meals my husband and I enjoyed as young adults were in our own home, to which we immediately invited people not long after our wedding day. Rarely did someone invite us to dinner.  What was the simplest and easiest dessert for me to make?  Pie, of course!  (I have learned to prepare many delicious desserts, but pie is still my favorite!)

Decades later, we realized my mother was suffering from a form of dementia; one of the saddest, most telltale signs of her decline was the day she called me and asked me for her own pie crust recipe.   I felt a deep sense of loss at that moment as I explained her recipe and method to her.   I knew something serious had happened in her mind, as pie-baking had always been instinctive for her.

Back to the counter and the crust for the banana cream pie:  while contemplating the fact that this pie would be the last pie I would prepare for my father before he moved out of the house, as the undertow of grief threatened to swallow me up, the Holy Spirit revealed to me that a simple pie represented a tremendous, enduring legacy of hospitality, inclusion, life, and love — a legacy that no one can rob from me — a legacy of caring about others, a legacy of good food and laughter, a legacy of sharing simple pleasures, a legacy of conversation and fellowship, a legacy of giving.   How could I ever have regarded THAT as boring or ordinary?  As a child, I had taken all those things for granted and failed to realize what treasures I enjoyed on a daily basis; of course I appreciated them, but I had considered those routines normal.  As an adult, I recognize what a priceless inheritance my parents imparted to me, an inheritance that reaches beyond possessions and bank accounts.

Gratitude flooded my heart.  “Besides,” I thought to myself, “I will be able to bake Dad a pie when we visit the house and bring him home for dinner.”   I pray I will bake hundreds more pies for people in the years to come; my mother would do so, were she able.

Moreover, I have begun to search my heart with this question:   “How many treasures in Daddy God’s Kingdom have I taken for granted and considered ordinary?”  I am asking the Holy Spirit to reveal His legacy to me, in me, and through me to others as I navigate the remaining days of my own life.   May I not overlook the priceless gems lying in the ordinary places of day-to-day life!

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