Living Things

A few months ago Isis and I traipsed into our neighbor's house with rather muddy shoes. If I remember correctly, we even managed to let her muddy dog in the front door as well. I quickly apologized and began taking off my shoes. She yelled at me and told me not to because her house was made to be lived in. I loved it. And I especially love how I can barge into her home at any time with screaming, dirty children and muddy shoes and she will set a fresh made something in front of me.

Almost seven years ago Chris and I received a quilt for our wedding gift. It was a quilt made by my grandmother. Hours and hours of tiny, tedious stitching went into that quilt. It was beautiful. I think the first inclination, when given such a precious gift, is to keep it as nice as possible. Perhaps tuck it away in a chest somewhere so nothing foreign comes into contact with it. Why? So that when I am old and almost dead I can look at the quilt that my grandmother made me and think about how nice I kept it? No ma'am. That quilt has lived on our bed for seven years. It has seen mud, poop (baby poop, not ours), potting soil, drinks, crumbs, and any other number of things that have made their way into our bedroom. Sometimes I hear it tear a little when I pull it. I love it.

A few days ago Isis was sitting at the kitchen table...a fairly new addition to our house. She was banging something against it. Something hard. Something that could potentially make a mark. Oh heavens. A mark on our kitchen table! I found myself quickly reprimanding her, then I remembered Margaret. And our muddy shoes. And I reminded myself that we have two children living in this house. There will be marks and spills and messes for many, many, many, many more years to come. If preserving the niceness of things in our home was my intention, then bringing children into it probably wasn't the best idea.

But it wasn't my intention. Living and creating memories is my intention. A mark on the table is a reminder of how three year olds play. A ripped quilt is a reminder of seven years of warmth, comfort, and cuddling. When I am old and dying, I won't be taking nice things to heaven with me. And if I die tomorrow, I won't be taking nice things either. Either way, I hope to die with memories of life.