Life of Charms...

My mother's hand reaches to open the powder blue box. And she begins...carefully pulling out this piece and that piece of jewelry...

...each with a story.

Her gaze softens with some memories, pulling them from long ago and far away, into our present, into my now. Her trip to New York City in high school and the fancy Trifari leaf bracelet, a tarnished silver and turquoise necklace from her 1970s...

...the stories go on.

And my eye falls to one piece, her bracelet with gold tinged charms, each memorializing something - her time as a bridesmaid; her engagement to my father; their wedding; and her college graduation. With eyes closing, I see my young mother wearing a fancy dress to Dayton's department store, downtown Minneapolis of course. Past the perfume ladies, silky lingerie and velvet hats...to the jewelry section.

Her lilting, gracious voice comes...I'd like this charm. Not that one, no thank you, but this one, please.

Filled with her stories, my voice comes...Oh yes, I want her bracelet, I want it for mine, this one please.

So she places it on my wrist, snapping tight its clasp, my heart sighs. And this little bracelet whispers something bold and wise and true, old as the hills and fresh as tomorrow.

Our memories come, our memories go...

...of yesterday and last year, now as ever.

Day in and day out, we pluck them from our past. Stitching one memory with another, fading in and out, replaced by another and another and another.

And we love these memories, except when we don't.

For some demand a steep cost...icy trauma looms, holding us frozen. Many throw tantrums, demand our attention. We wage righteous battles against the toughest, impossible to forget. Crashed our bikes, skinned our knees, missed the mark, flubbed a deed. Oh much worse they can get, with a wink and a curse. Rejection of all sorts, and bodies that break...

...these memories, we know them too well.

Then there are the easy ones, sweet and breezy ones.

A hug here and a kind word there. Carrot cake, a favorite, made by my grandmother for every visit. Passing my ballet French test to advance to toe shoes. Walking into humid Africa air for the first time and gazing at stars long into the night. And there are more, always more, such a gift to have more...running up hills and dancing til dawn. Beloved ones passed away, but their smiles etched in our hearts, forever without end.

Memories call to us, begging to be seen.

To be spoken in our hearts or out loud to another. Some sneak in and others are invited....we pick one here, pull one there. One is tossed out, another hugged tight. My story is written and rewritten, your story is too. Fact or fiction, we wonder...

...as we watch and repeat, let go and delete, hold on and hold harder, rinse and repeat.

For minutes or an hour, maybe more...as my mother told her stories I traveled back through regrets, losses, griefs...laughter, joys and delights.

And when she closed her sweet box, I looked down at the bracelet to hear a charmed whisper...

.

"Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." Matthew 6:21