I am convinced that if this old house could speak, it would tell you things I may have forgotten.
Life has passed by so fast, I find myself reminiscing the stories that took place a life-time ago.
I can remember the creek at the top of the stairs case and the lace curtains that blew in the wind. The wallpaper I swore I would change every time the year came to an end, yet the faded paper still clings to the wall like an old friend.
I loved the summers in this old house. I would open every window and breathe in deep, the morning air. I would take the rugs that lined the wooden floors outside to be dusted. A little spider scurried across the room, as I gently swept him out into the garden where he could make his home elsewhere.
The fire-place that warmed us is still dusted with ash and soot but I am too frail to clean it anymore. I can still smell the scent of cedar that burned on those very cold winter nights, when I curled up till late; reading stories from the old book of the God who saved and delivered his people. I’d fall asleep as the fire glow danced across the pages.
The laughter and the tears echo through the walls of this old house.
I embrace the memories that seem to come today as I lay in my bed. I am ancient, so my very great grand children tell me. I do not hear so well except the music that plays in my heart. I can barely see through the eyes that have blurred with time, until I put on the thin gold framed glasses that clear my vision. I pick up my pen to tell the stories this old heart holds, as I ‘ll continue to write until I am too old. Memory is a powerful thing and I remember well, for now.
My Children were born in this old house. The cries of their little voices still brings a smile to my face. Days I spent on my knees praying that God would grow them true. Baths, stories, and Sunday school. The sun would go down and tummies were full, their laughter rang through the halls and the rafters too. One by one they went away to venture life and dreams. They returned with a love to call their own and babies were born in time.
This old house has been good to us. Here memories are found.
The man I love shared this very room with me. Sometimes my heart will whisper that I’m sorry for the times I spent being stubborn, building mountains out of little hills, learning to attain a heart of forgiveness and grace. Some of the time even while I was still angry, he would take my hand in the darkness of the room, his face close to mine I could feel his breath on my cheek, he would sing to me.
“You are still my girl from the day we met, I promised myself I would never regret , marrying you, loving you, being with you forever. If the day should come and I go first, remember the words that my heart sang. I will never regret marring you, loving you, being with you forever. You were and always will be my girl.”
I can still hear his voice sing to me when the moon is full in the darkness of this room. I know one day he will hold me again when heaven comes to call.
But for today I am here waiting for my little guest to arrive. The pitter patter of small feet and the giggles of little ones. Grandbabies, great-grandbabies and great, great, grandbabies have come to this old house.
The stories I tell when they are near, makes my spirit come alive. But someday soon I will leave this old house behind. Only memories will linger of grandma’s love big enough for all, and Papa strumming his old guitar echoing down the wooden halls. Voices singing sweetly of God’s amazing grace will rest upon the hearts of those who dwell in this place.
From young to old let your story be told, for your legacy lives on even long after you are gone.
(This story was inspired by my great-grandmother Rose Kamai whose love for God impacted my life).
Live The Life He Planned For you.
Praying for you,