~Object 47~ A Little White Box

A package came for her in the mail.  Opening the card, she savored the sweet note, and then saw the tiny wrapped object.  She had an inkling, and hoped it was right, but didn't want to get her hopes up.  She quickly tore the floral paper and saw that her guess had been right.  A small, white, hinged box sat in her hand.  Such a strange sensation ran up her spine and then down again.

She slowly opened it and there lay a pair of stunning earrings.  The lovely *snap* that the case made when she opened or closed it gave her chills.

She wasn't a jewelry girl, she rarely wore any, but these made her nearly giddy.  She took the earrings out of their wonderful, white home and placed them on her ears.  Her mom laughed at her as she giggled and posed with her new treasures, looking in the mirror more than a few times.

She wore them out to dinner with her parents; reaching up to feel them every once in a while.  She felt grown up and strangely elegant.

And the little box lay at home, forgotten.  But she loved it.

It's not often a present comes in a little, white box.

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Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 46~ A Curb

They had just gotten their drinks from a coffee shop and were trying to decide whether to sit inside and talk above the noise, or find a spot outside to sit in peace.  They opted for a nearby patch of grass, but discovered on arriving that the dew was still quite present.  Not wanting to come up with a new spot, they sat on the concrete curb next to the grass.

There they sat for quite some time, sharing thoughts, feelings, frustrations, questions, advice, excitement, sorrow.  If the curb had ears, it would have heard it all.

She felt something tickle her foot and brushed an ant off, only to find another one.  She looked down at where she was sitting and saw that the once perfectly clean curb was now home to dozens and dozens of little ants.  Apparently they had chosen to sit too near the nest.

Scooting down five or six feet they laughed and resumed their conversation, enjoying the warm sun and heated concrete.

They left the curb behind and ran around town for the rest of the day, thoroughly enjoying it.  But sitting there, enjoying each other's company, and the beautiful morning God had given them, was the best way to start a day.

And now she is thanking her Savior for great friends and comfy curbs.

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Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 45~ A Puzzle

The whole picture is unseen.  The pieces blend together and seem confusing.  We don't know what it will turn out to be in the end.

Bit by bit the edges fit together, outlining the puzzle.  Slowly, one piece after another, the picture starts taking shape; a beautiful masterpiece.

Puzzles take time, and they can be frustrating.  We try fifty pieces before we find one that fits, but when it does it is almost seamless.

Life is a puzzle, and we don't have the box.  We try things and they don't fit, and that is when you have a choice.  You can throw the pieces off the table and give up, complaining that it's too hard, it isn't working, you've already tried for a long time, the future is too uncertain.  Or, you can patiently try another piece, and then another.

God has the box; He has painted your picture.  He is the Master Artist Who knows all.  Trust Him with the fragments of your life, and the pieces of your masterpiece will fit together seamlessly.

But you must first trust.

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Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 44~ A Birthday Cake

She had never done this before.  She had not made the cake, or frosted it, either, but she was able to place the candles on top, light them and hold the cake while her family sang to her mother, who blew out the candles.  She had helped place candles plenty of times.  She had helped light candles plenty of times.  But never had she done either of these things alone.

For some reason it made her feel grown up.  She had been trusted with these simple, sacred tasks for the very first time.  As she was lighting them she hoped that no one would come into the pantry, so that she could finish her assignment alone.

She sang the first note of, "Happy Birthday," and her mom laughed as her family purposefully sang the worst rendition of the song ever sung.

"Emily, will you cut the cake?"

Feeling older by the second, she sliced each piece; a tiny one for her youngest brother, a huge one for her Dad, and every size in between for the rest of the clan.  Everyone loved it, but she was just thinking about this new chapter.  Everything was changing, and for some reason a birthday cake reminded her of this all over again.  She wasn't sad about it, she felt strangely peaceful.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time."

(Ecclesiastes 3:11)

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Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 43~ A Hope Chest

There's something about a hope chest.  She was given one on her fifteenth birthday, and has loved it since.  She enjoys finding new treasures to tuck away in it, and occasionally opens the lid just to stare at everything.  It now has quite the selection of items filling it, and she dreams of one day serving dinner on her plates, baking in her dishes, having tea with a friend in her china...

The name is quite fitting.  Hopes are stored away in that chest.  Dreams have nestled their way into the corners and will stay there for some time before they are awakened from their dormancy.  Dust will continue to gather; new objects will be lovingly placed inside and sit...and sit.

But the name is fitting in another way.  See, hopes don't always end up coming to be, and this is the risk in a hope chest.  She piles it full of things that might be of use someday, but that day may never come.  She expects to marry someday, of course, most girls do, but some are not set aside for this task.  Some never unpack their hope chests.  Some have another calling.

Hope is expecting something, anticipating in it.  She certainly expects and anticipates marriage, but she cannot see the big picture.

For now, the dark wood gleams, and it is an admired piece of furniture, but it may not always shine.  It may be tucked away in an attic somewhere, or used as a coffee table.  It may be unpacked in a new home, with her husband nearby, and it might not.

But this isn't something to be scared of.  "Oh, how sad!" one might think.  No, certainly not sad.  God's greater plan is much better than any we could ever have.  He is the Master Storyteller, Who's stories always turn out best.  Singleness would not be a punishment; not in the least, it would just be different.

The rambler is convinced that it's better this way.  If we knew for sure, either way, we would do everything a bit differently, and the curiosity is half of the fun.  Will she wed, or not?  Will her husband even like the things she has so lovingly stored, or will they be replaced with newer things?  How will her story end?

There's something about a hope chest... It is the object of hope, not certainty.

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Over and out,

~Emily   

~Object 42~ A Journal

It held it all.  Her hopes, her dreams, her likes, her dislikes, her struggles, her victories, her failures, her lessons learned.  Such a small book, but somehow it was such a comfort.  Some things can't make their way into spoken sentences, but on a page, they make so much sense.

Dreams seem more attainable, struggles less overwhelming, dislikes less annoying, likes more fantastic, victories more victorious.  Or maybe it's just as Anais Nin said, "We write to taste life twice."  All dreams are dreamed again.  All battles are won a second, or third or fourth time.  All lessons learned are learned again.  Memories that easily could have been forgotten are relived for a lifetime.  Beauty lasts forever on a page.

But there are two sides to this.  Beauty lasts forever, but ugliness, too, lives on.  Memories and feelings, hurtful words and missed opportunities outlive the person who wrote them, if they make it into those simple books called journals.

Think twice, dear readers!  Think again and again, about the times in life that you truly will wish to repeat, before you allow yourself to record them.  Times when you've been hurt by sharp words ought not make their way to the pages.  Do not write in anger or fear, or if you must get it out, burn the pages before you have the chance to reread them.

The rambler once read Anne Frank's Diary, or journal, if you will.  She enjoyed much of it, but how much would never have been written if dear Anne knew people would one day read her scribbling.

Yes, hopes, dreams, likes, dislikes, struggles, victories, failures, lessons learned, these are the things that should be written in the precious pages of a journal.  Never hate.  Never anger.  Never jealousy or greed or discontentment or spiteful thinking.

Words are powerful things, and how much more weight they carry once we're gone.  Only once we are gone will people read our journals.  What do you want others to read?

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Over and out,

~Emily

~Object 41~ The Bible

She had been neglecting it.  It wasn't that she didn't want to take the time to study the Word...but then again, maybe it was.  If she really wanted to, she would just do it, and not say she wished she had.  As it was she would wake up in the morning and need to get up right away so that she wouldn't fall asleep.  Then she would need to eat right away so that she wouldn't pass out.  And then she would need to do something right away so that she would feel useful.

Grand excuses.

"I'll make sure I read it tonight."  She would tell herself, knowing that it probably wouldn't happen.

She would get in bed each night entirely exhausted and fall asleep right away...her Bible sitting, collecting dust, on her shelf.

After weeks of this, with three or four chapters of Proverbs mixed in occasionally, she started feeling dry, hungry, thirsty, in need of something.

Josh died and she realized what it was she had been hungering for.  She dug into the Word like she had never done before.  She read chapter after chapter after Psalm after Psalm, relishing each word like it was manna from heaven.

Each verse took on new meaning.  Each verse carried more weight.  She started realizing how much she had been missing out during those weeks -sometimes months- of sporadic reading.  How could she have taken the Word so for granted that she left it sitting on a shelf?  She realized that she had been so hungry and so thirsty, yet had pushed food and water away, saying she didn't have time.

She heard a story once of a missionary who was burned alive in his home, for owning a Bible.  Afterward one of the men who had helped in the burning found the remains of a Bible in the house.  He took the pages that were still readable and read them.  God planted seeds in his life and entirely changed the man.  In order to preserve the precious pages he pasted them to his walls.  He treasured the Word as it ought to be treasured.

She had been blessed with Bibles in every room of her house, and they sat there while she busied herself with a, "full schedule."

And now here she is, ashamed to be writing this, but knowing she should.

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Over and out,

~Emily

P.S.  My favorite book of the Bible is constantly changing, but currently it is Habakkuk.

~Object 40~ Pearls

She hadn't worn them before.  Her mother's pearls were so lovely.  Just the right size, not too white, not to perfect.  They looked like they were meant to be worn in a wedding or to meet the queen, not just a normal gathering.

She was asked if she'd like to wear them to a special event and she was thrilled.  Of course she would like to!  But she was nervous.  They were a gift from her great grandparents to her mother and she would be devastated if she lost them.

Her mother helped her place them around her neck, wrapped once, so that they were the perfect length.  The earrings, too, to complete the ensemble.

The night was a dream.  A fast, blur-like dream that ended all too soon.  Every once in awhile her finger touched her neck, and then each of her ears, making sure the treasures were still in place.

She felt like a princess.

Over and out,

~Emily