Have you ever had to do something and you aren't really sure why, but something within tells you to do it? Time passes, maybe even years, and one day out of the blue it hits you. You know why. It didn't really make sense at the time...but it does now...
During my post college graduation/pre-marriage years whenever I made a trip home to Sioux City, I frequently found myself in a difficult position - standing in front of a cardboard box of things my mother no longer wanted. The divorce was final, the house I lived in for nearly my first twenty one years was sold, and as if that wasn't enough closure there was still what was now considered "junk" for my sisters and me to go through. It was fairly traumatic, those boxes and boxes of things that remained after 26 years of marriage; family photos to split up, wedding gifts to separate, and those gifts that had been given to both parents - who gets to keep what? Oh and don't forget the box full of wedding day memorabilia and wedding photo albums - I guess we can just burn that entire box? Yes, we will light the old unity candle, the same one that my parents had saved and burned every year on their anniversary for all those years, and we will use that to start it all on fire. Seemed appropriate to me.
In all of those boxes, aside from the family photos, there wasn't much of anything that I wanted. It was hard enough to pick up the pieces and move on as things were, I didn't need any additional reminders sitting on my shelf. There was one thing that tugged enough at my heartstrings to make it to my save pile. It was a music box. The beautifully carved wood box looked familiar but I didn't have a strong recollection, maybe because it was broken? The crank would not turn, and lifting the lid did not produce a sound. It came all the way from Switzerland, a souvenir my dad had picked up for my mom on their trip to Europe very early in their marriage. I saw it and my heart hurt, how sad my dad would be to see it in the "junk" pile. A label on the bottom read "Edelweiss." Oh my, another dagger - the song my father sang to his baby girls to rock them to sleep. I took it with me and packed it away in a box. Maybe someday I would fix it.
It didn't resurface again until after our wedding. I found it while unpacking our boxes into our first apartment. It made it from the box to the desktop, I thought I might as well take it in to the clock repair place at the mall and see if they could get it working again. About a week and forty dollars later and it was fully restored. I wound the crank, opened the lid and peered through the glass plate to see the working parts and hear the tune, it was almost as beautiful and soothing as my father's voice. I badly wanted to show it to my dad. Or maybe give it to him? But I just didn't know, it felt awkward. I didn't want to upset him. Back into the box it went.
It stayed in that box and traveled with us to our move to Johnston, and finally Polk City. We didn't find a place for it until we were preparing what is now Hannah's room. The music box seemed fitting up on her bookshelf. And there it sat, untouched for several years, until I needed it a few weeks ago.
We misplaced the blue musical elephant that we had been using to help soothe AJ to sleep, and I needed something else to play a few minutes of music for him as he drifted off to sleep. The music box! How I hadn't thought of this even before he was born was beyond me. I turned the crank and "Edelweiss" began to play. But it wasn't just a music box, or any song. It was my father, his Papa Jim, gently rocking him to sleep. And in a way, each time I turn the music box on as he falls asleep, somehow it eases the pain of them not getting to meet on this side of heaven. It makes perfect sense now.
Why we do what we do, is it always just a coincidence or a gut feeling? I don't think so. I told my very wise mother-in-law this story and she was reminded that our lives on earth can be compared to a tapestry. God may give us glimpses of the tapestry while we are still on earth, but we won't really see it's beauty until we are in heaven. I hadn't heard this comparison before, but I love it. I have loved working with quilts for a number of years now and it reminds me of that. There is a bigger picture, a creator, and even though we may not always understand or be able to see the way the pieces are going to fit together we can trust that some day they will and our tapestry, our work of art will be complete.
Philippians 1:6
And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.
