Yesterday I was cleaning out my purse. This has become a fairly regular chore in my life once I ditched the diaper bag. I refuse to carry multiple bags everywhere I go, so my purse has to do double duty. About once a week I have to at least be sure there are enough diapers, wipes, a burp rag and an infant size change of clothes to get me through any emergency situation that might happen while we’re out. This week I also tried to collect any trash (WHY do my kids think my purse is a trash can when we’re out?!), grab loose change out of the bottom and restock my emergency snacks. As I was digging through the bottomless pit that is my purse, I pulled out a handkerchief.
This was no ordinary handkerchief. It was something I got years ago that belonged to my grandma, who has been with Jesus for a long time now. For a season I kept it tucked away in a box with other special mementos. I ran across it recently and just didn’t feel right about the life it was leading, hidden away from the world and without a purpose. So I stuck it in my purse where it has been used to wipe noses, clean dirty hands, tend to a skinned knee, dab coffee off my shirt, and function in a supporting role in multiple pretend play scenarios (it’s a tiny blanket! or a tent! or a hat!) with many washings in between. And it shows. What was once protected has been well used.
I am tempted to feel guilty about this. I feel like I’m not protecting the legacy of my grandma by allowing my kids to play with her things. But the reality is that a handkerchief is not her legacy. My kids live her legacy every day as we continue family traditions and they benefit from a home where for generations there has been a commitment to family and hope and hard work and most of all, to Jesus.
I wonder about the generations that come after me. What will be my legacy? Will it be the dishes and jewelry and handkerchiefs I leave behind? I pray that isn’t what it is. I want my children to remember my laugh and the warm home we shared and maybe my meatloaf recipe. I want them to remember the intangible things and pass those down to their children. The lessons they learned from me about sharing and kindness and caring for those who can’t care for themselves. The Bible stories and hymns and verses we learned together. I want my legacy to be in the people I helped shape and not in the possessions I managed to accumulate.
So Kids, when I die, feel free to divide my things up how you see fit. Donate what you want and keep the things that are precious to you. Use my things! Honor me by not becoming the caretakers of my stuff, but by incorporating them into your life in ways that are useful. And when the day comes that your children or grandchildren drop that bowl you saved of mine, don’t grieve too much. I’m not in that bowl. But you will create your legacy by the way you treat that child in their moment of sadness and repentance. Teach them the lesson I learned from my dad when in my teenage years I backed the van out of the garage and broke off the side mirror. My dad quietly came out of the house, opened the passenger door and climbed in the car with me. He put his arm around me and patted my shoulder and only said, “People are more important than things” as I cried. As a man who takes very meticulous care of his things, I knew that was saying a lot. He knew in that moment what I needed wasn’t a lecture about safety or a scolding for my carelessness or a reminder of how much money it takes to fix a car. He knew what I needed to know was that he loved me. He loved me more than things, which are just replaceable. And that moment built into how I valued myself and shaped what kind of parent I would become and ultimately will be a small part of the legacy of my dad.
When generations from now nobody knows my name, I want my values and my heart to live much longer than the things I owned. The only way I know to accomplish that is to invest in my kids. When my Liberian and Mexican and Lakota and German/English/Swedish decedents (and who knows what else by then) run across our multiracial family picture, I want them to wonder. I want them to ask questions about the people at the center of where the family tree branches out and new families were grafted in. If my jewelry has all been sold and the dishes have all broken and the knickknacks we collected in our travels have ended up scattered across thrift stores, I’m okay with that. People are more important than things. With every nose I wipe, every skinned knee I tend to, every lullaby I sing I am working to build a legacy that can’t be broken or stained or sold.
Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Matthew 6:19-21
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