Treasure Remains

I stand in the upstairs hallway of my parents' house. The lighted Christmas garland on the banister casts a soft glow.  My hand rests on the post at the top of the stairs, round, smooth and cool. The old floor creaks comfortably as I step, like a well-known voice in the dim.   It seems everything is slowed, like in a movie, to show every detail of something that is happening so fast.

The carpeted foyer is wide and gracious as I come down the stairs, the wall displaying familiar photos of family generations.  I look at the wide front door with the flowered glass inset and the French doors opening upon the rich red dining room, lit by a chandelier which has been spun for babies to watch and hung with balloons for countless happy birthdays. The room is full of so many memories they almost crowd me out and I remain, suspended for a moment in the doorway, hushed before their power. The emptying rooms throb with Home, Love and the weight of the living, praying, breathing and footsteps of 18 years of us.  And it's so much to feel, the rush of all that Life.

Leaving the house, I turn back on the steps, and see my mom and dad framed in that welcoming door, smiling with teary eyes and promising that all will be well. Yes, I say, yes. And my heart wells up inside me.

The cold car is filled with the sound of the baby's cries and I tuck and soothe and settle, barely getting to turn back in haste for one last homeward look. One last glimpse of a house beloved and ours. One last glimpse of the home-lights burning, golden and oh-so-steady in the great open black of the night. 

As the car warms and night flies past and stars spin cold above, I cry. I cry for the dear middle-aged hearts I am leaving aching these last nights in their home. I cry for the dreams that have been changed, the homelessness that is felt and the stabbing poignancy of every sight I saw this night, in hungry looking. 

  The tears blur and the dark countryside offers cold comfort, but a baby still cries vigorously and so I sing to him. Coming to my lips unbidden is that piercing song, that glorious song.  I sung it in tears while clasping Grandpa's warm dying hand and again while dirt thudded hard onto his chestnut casket.  And so I sing it and as the little cries quiet, I hear the words and I marvel at what the Lord is doing. 

"O God beyond all praising... I sing the love amazing... For we can only wonder at every gift You send, at blessings without number and mercies without end..."

Yes, Lord, yes. 

"Precious treasure remains in the house of the wise"

Proverbs 21:20