Monuments

After a rushed morning I finally got out the door for my morning walk. I had no scripture to ponder. No thoughts to toss around for my blog today. In the push this morning (I overslept), I didn't get to have my morning Bible time. That always leaves me feeling unprepared!

In this part of Texas we don't get much snow for the most part. Some winters we don't see a single flake, and when we do see flakes, it is all you will hear about on the news. People flock to the stores to stock up on groceries at the forecast of flurries. We take our snow flurries seriously! A half inch of snow here is like a full blown Texas snowstorm! It's no joking matter (especially for those like myself who adore the snow and cold).

Well, we had a true snowstorm this past week, closing down schools and other activities.We had a record breaking 11 inches in some places. It was delightful. And beautiful. And almost surreal. I couldn't stop looking at it and marveling over it. I took so many pictures, as if I could somehow preserve the moments forever. Pictures don't quite convey the true breathtaking qualities of a thing, but they are good reminders at least.

The snow began to melt away this past Saturday and is basically gone today, except for a few shady spots still clinging to their white covering. But, as I walked up my own street this morning I was amazed at the huge chunks of left over snowmen still standing, at least in part.

Only this morning in my sunny backyard, I noticed a lone army helmet sitting on the grass--the same helmet that on Friday was bravely worn by a courageous snowman built by my husband and son. There it was--just a memory of what had been.


There is a park in eye's view of our home. During our two days of snowfall, it was a haven for happy children--busy rolling balls of snow to assemble snowmen, forming bunkers for snowball fights, or simply seeing who could create the largest of snowballs.

Today you would never know that we had even had a snowstorm last week, except for fragments of those snowmen and snowballs still standing.

It struck me as amusing looking across

the field of that park--

barren except for those

few snow mounds.

And then it made me think how much our life is like that sometimes. How fresh and new things begin only to become fragments of memories later, or memories long ago melted into the distant recesses of our minds. But, there are always those certain things done or said or experienced that stick with us. In spite of life going on, those things remain upright at the forefront of our minds. Just like those snow mounds.

Some of those remaining memories bring a smile to our faces or hope to our senses, while others are devastating reminders of things we would rather forget. Mistakes. Regrets. Opportunities lost.

Life is sort of like building a snowman amidst the layers of snowfall. Parts will melt away. Parts will remain. We are all building something. But what? What will you leave behind one day? What memories are vivid to you today? What will others remember when they consider your life?

I hope to build strong memories that will last and stand even when all else seems to have melted away. I want those memories to center around my love for God--above all else!

Someday, when my child looks back to remember what I was like, I want him to first see the huge mounds of God in my life. My love for God as well as for my family. Maybe he'll remember some of the fun things we did together, the books we've read, movies we've seen, places we have gone. Or maybe some of the long and lengthy conversations we have had. But I want my legacy--my true legacy, to be that of a God-fearing woman. The Proverbs 31 woman.

If I can be remembered as one who lived for and loved God above all else, it will be enough! I can think of no greater, more honorable thing to leave standing in my life.

So much of what we find ourselves busy doing, that we think really matters in our lives today, doesn't. It won't last. It will melt away. But if I can imprint my family and friends with my love for God and share that relationship with them, I will feel I have left behind that which truly matters the most.

Maybe it would be good for us to pause and take a look--take inventory if you will, of what kind of legacy we are leaving. We all leave one. No way around that!

What kind are you leaving?

What will you impart to those who know you that will remain standing?