selective memory

"For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it."

1 Timothy 6:7 has never been as poignant to me as it has been this past week.

Besides having to consider how and when to begin sifting and sorting through mom's worldly possessions, this happens to be the week that my 92-year-old grandmother's condo is getting cleared out and her belongings auctioned off.

While weaving my way through the rows of boxed-up belongings, I was struck by powerful, unexpected waves of memories triggered by the most insignificant things. Like the Peter Rabbit board game we used to play with Grandma. Or the watercolor paints in the basement. Or the decks of cards that were subjected to many a hand of Kings in the Corner.

The temptation is to hoard all memorabilia possible in a vain effort to preserve what remains of the memories.

But what of Matthew 6:19-21?

We do not store up for ourselves these things because in and of themselves they possess great value. A deck of cards is virtually worthless. Yet the memories wrapped up in them are invaluable.

So what do I do? Keep piles and piles of worthless goods for the sake of triggering memories? Or do I let them be auctioned off to strangers who know not their intrinsic value and risk selling the memories along with them?

As James 4:14 bluntly reminds me, "Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes."

The reality is, we brought nothing into this world. And as I am seeing with my own eyes as I watch my mother and grandmother loosen their grip on what they have held onto in this world, I am tangibly aware that we can take nothing out of it.

So while I have no idea what will happen tomorrow to myself or anyone else, I am still faced with the question: When my time does come, what will I leave behind?