Once I got to mug number thirty (or maybe four-hundred), I was thinking through the easiest way to crush frosty. \u00a0I hated frosty. \u00a0I hated hot cocoa. \u00a0Did we even have hot cocoa in those mugs? \u00a0We probably had cough syrup in them. \u00a0So I pitched the rest of the frostys. \u00a0And this, folks, is what the end of the clean-out process looked like.<\/p>\n
But alas, I kept several items and even passed on a few frostys \u00a0to my sister. \u00a0And some of the items I kept are particularly meaningful to me. \u00a0I have my mom’s rings because I remember playing with them as a child. \u00a0I’d sit with her during Sunday night church, grab her hand, and I’d twist the rings watching them glimmer. \u00a0I have a blanket that mom kept with her during her last days. \u00a0It’s a blanket that has pictures of extended family, and if you saw mom in the last several months of her life, she was likely wrapped up in this blanket she loved. \u00a0And I kept a few of my dad’s journals. \u00a0Even though I can’t read them. \u00a0I also kept a couple of his odd looking, home-made seashell creatures, just in case I ever to start to think I come from perfectly “normal” genes.<\/p>\n
But I don’t have any of the frosty-mugs. \u00a0Not even one.<\/p>\n
My heart is so full of gratitude for what my parents have passed down to us, but my gratitude really has nothing to do with these little treasures, because even if I lost them all, they’ve given me gifts far greater than rings, blankets, and odd looking sea creatures. \u00a0These are three of the precious gifts I’ve received:<\/p>\n
A Love Song for the Savior \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Their love for Jesus wasn’t always neat and tidy. \u00a0It wasn’t a love that soothed every pain, it didn’t automatically fix every problem; in fact, their love for Jesus included some wrestling with<\/em> him. \u00a0I remember my dad sharing some of his doubts and struggles, especially as a young college student. \u00a0And I know that my mom’s love for Jesus didn’t remove her questioning as to why she had the disease she was given. \u00a0I heard her screams from pain, frustration, and fear.<\/p>\n But they loved Jesus fiercely, and they always came back to Him.<\/em> \u00a0My mom wanted prayers and Scriptures sung and read in her last days. \u00a0My dad planned his own funeral, even grasping my husband at one point while giving him instructions for the service and said, “Chris, make it JOYFUL.” \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n He loved Jesus with his heart, soul, and mind and wanted the joy that he found in that relationship to be declared to as many people as possible. \u00a0Sometimes the joy was sung in quiet minor tunes, and other times it was moved into a major key and sung boldly and triumphantly. \u00a0But it was always sung. \u00a0And I \u00a0heard it. \u00a0It was a song that left room for wrestling\u00a0with <\/em>Jesus, instead of wrestling against Him or becoming apathetic toward Him. \u00a0 It was song filled with fierce and relentless love for our Savior.<\/p>\n Lord, help me to sing of my love for you all of my days. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n A Thirst for the Word\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n I inherited a Bible from each parent.<\/p>\n Both mom and dad’s Bibles are filled with notes, highlights, and even torn pages from so much handling.<\/p>\n So much handling. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses reminds his people that the Words of God are not empty, but are “your very life<\/em>.” \u00a0 I watched my parents handle their Bibles as though the words were their life. \u00a0It wasn’t merely grabbed off the shelf on a Sunday morning, but they studied it, they dug into it with believers and unbelievers, and they spent time trying to grasp the truths found in it.<\/p>\n Growing up, I listened to my parents disagree about the meaning of a particular passage (and no, my mom would not relent just because my dad had a Master of Divinity), the Bible was opened around our dinner table when I was young, I’d see them paging through it while preparing for Bible studies, and it was flipped open when we needed particular verses to help us through questions as teenagers.<\/p>\n “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters,”\u00a0<\/em>Isaiah declares about the life-giving Word. \u00a0There was no question growing up how important this book was to my parents. \u00a0They drank deeply from it and used it to fuel their day-to-day. \u00a0Their handling of it wasn’t a formula to keep struggles away, it wasn’t a requirement for their salvation, but it was response of their love for Jesus. \u00a0Their fierce love kept bringing them back to drink more.<\/p>\n Lord, help me to come thirsty and drink abundantly from the waters of your Word all of my days. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n An Eagerness for Worship<\/strong><\/p>\n My parents loved to worship Jesus. \u00a0I have memories of sitting on the beach while on vacation, and they’d talk for hours about songs to incorporate in worship services, themes to carry throughout the year, books of the Bible to preach through, and ways to be creative, incorporating different senses in worship.<\/p>\n Hear His glory, see the cross, feel the joy given, and taste the bread and the wine. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Worship was not work. \u00a0It was a joy, and their eagerness for it was contagious. \u00a0 They were as eager to worship on the beach, delighting even in the waves God created, as they were to worship in His sanctuary, taking pleasure in every aspect of a service.<\/p>\n I’ll never forget standing in the sanctuary with my dad and the worship director after a Good Friday service. With the sanctuary emptied, dad pointed out the details of how even the lighting on the cross aided in our worship and how the words of the music wove together the themes throughout the evening. \u00a0The worship of His Savior genuinely affected him, and I couldn’t help but be excited with him.<\/p>\n Lord, help me to worship you well and with a joyful heart all of my days.<\/em><\/p>\n As valuable as these gifts are, I’m completely mindful that if they don’t dwell deeply within my own heart, I can’t pass them down to the next generation. \u00a0You may be the first generation to have the opportunity to pass on an inheritance with eternal value, or you may be the hundredth generation. \u00a0In either case,\u00a0His\u00a0<\/em>grace is sufficient<\/em>. \u00a0Grace that gives us the desire to know our Savior deeply and broadly, grace that gives us the voice to sing of that love. \u00a0Grace that gives us the desire to know His Words whether we feel like reading them or not, and grace that allows us to drink deep enough for the Scripture to become a part of who we are. \u00a0Grace given so we can joyfully and confidently worship \u00a0Jesus, and grace that keeps our praise from becoming rote or self-centered.<\/p>\n We cannot do it without Jesus and His loving, merciful grace. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n I noticed that my eight-year old was sleeping with an old penguin stuffed animal of mine. \u00a0I had given it to her a few years ago and was surprised that she brought it with her to our temporary home. \u00a0She was only allowed to choose twenty of her three-hundred stuffed animals. \u00a0The penguin made the cut. \u00a0I imagined that she cuddled it every night, thinking sweet thoughts about her mom. \u00a0 So I asked her if she wanted to keep my penguin forever. \u00a0“Mom, it’s flat, it’s pretty ugly, and it’s really kind of creepy. \u00a0 If you want it back, you can have it.” \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n Yep. \u00a0She’s definitely going to be throwing away my mugs one day.<\/p>\n Love Jesus, Lily. \u00a0Love Him with all of your heart. \u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n My flat, creepy penguin won’t last another generation, neither will my mugs, but by God’s rich mercy and grace…I know what will.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When I first began the process of cleaning out my childhood home, I had grand plans to organize, plans to … <\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katiepolski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/FullSizeRender-8.jpg?resize=492%2C369&ssl=1\")
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