An old sofa

When we got our new furniture, we had to figure out what to do with the old stuff. The big couch went down in our basement so that we can actually have a place to sit down when we're down there, but we really don't have room for the old loveseat (and it had that big ugly rip in it). So, this weekend, we decided to bring the loveseat to the garbage dump. Right before we loaded it up, my husband said, "You know...we really should check this thing a second and see if any of our stuff is in it." So he started digging around in all the cracks around the cushions. Here's our jackpot list:

~a fingernail clipper that's been lost for months
~a purple Barbie shoe
~a bookmark
~a lego Darth Vader head (my son has been looking for that one)
~a pencil (which cracked me up because as my husband was feeling around and pulling stuff out, he all of a sudden said "Ow! Pencil.")
~and...drum roll please...A DIME!! We're rich!!

Apparantly, we're hopelessly sentimental. We set our couch out along a curb that we were directed to leave it by, and as we drove away we both felt kind of sad (nevermind the fact that we have gorgeous NEW furniture sitting in our family room!) :-) It's been a good little couch. It has so many memories attached to it. We bought that furniture set about a day after I got out of the hospital from birthing our son. (We had already picked it out beforehand.) I remember moving around VERY SLOWLY, so as not to disturb my stitches, while one of our best friends helped my husband haul it into the family room of our old house. We've laughed and cried on that couch. Kids have puked on that couch. We've read books together on that couch. It's the spot where I spend time with God in the morning. All the people we love the most have sat on that couch.

It's silly how my memories tie me so tightly to concrete objects. I had such a hard time when we moved out of our old house because we had brought our first 2 kids home from the hospital there. I suppose that shouldn't be that big of a deal, but it killed me to know that they wouldn't remember or be able to see the inside of the first home they came home to. I fought tooth-and-nail to bring our swingset from our old house along with us to our new house. The people we sold the house to really wanted to buy it from us along with the house. I remember being in tears trying to explain to my husband why it was so important to be able to keep the very first swingset that those sweet little baby feet climbed on. To be able to keep pushing the kids on the same swings that they first learned to swing on. He finally told me I was being silly -- that we could buy a brand new swingset...a bigger, better swingset when we moved into the new house. I didn't want a bigger, better one. I wanted my memories.

As sentimental as I am, I don't have that great of a memory. I tend to forget things over time...and I hate that. It's seeing old objects, or old photographs, or old letters that helps me to remember all of the things that are so important to me. It causes memories to flood my mind. I think that's why I tend to like old things so much -- I don't want to forget. Old things are so rich with memories.

I think God knew that we tend to tie memories with objects when he commanded the Israelites to build altars and memorials when God did great things for them. When He was adamant that they tell all their great stories to their children, that they store important objects in the ark of the covenant, that they celebrate certain festivals and holidays every year. I think it's really important for me to do that too. To hang onto the same old Bible that has all my notes in the margins of what God has taught me through various passages. To hang onto the old prayer journals that document how God has answered my prayers. To keep certain things that are important reminders of the undeniable ways that He's worked in my life.

Christmas is like that. For the rest of my life, it would be impossible to forget that Jesus gave up everything that He deserved to come down into a pit and rescue me. I can't celebrate Christmas and not remember. I can't stand in Christmas Eve service each year with my husband, my 4 children, and all 4 of our parents singing praises to God, and just happen to forget that my entire immediate family is headed to heaven...together.

I love old things. I love memories, and reminders, and traditions. And I'm gonna miss that ugly ol' sofa.