Our Old Clumsy Beast of a Computer has been living up to its name: old, clumsy, beast. Jeff (gently and lovingly) makes comments like, "It's because the picture file has 53 gigs in it," or something like that, and seems to imply that it's my fault that the O.C.B. computer is overloaded. :)
I don't know much about computers, but I do know that I can help by deleting things. So I have been. Recklessly deleting blurry photos from 5 years ago. Gustily getting rid of photos of newborns (not our newborns, of course, but the babies of friends of ours...I realize that if I can't even recognize the baby and have no clue who it is, it's probably time to press "delete"). Deciding which of the 50 shots I took of Shav in a basket when he was 3 weeks old is worth keeping, and x-ing out the remaining 48. I'm on a roll, I tell ya!
As I've sorted through our pictures, I've discovered some that I hadn't looked at in a very long time, and I had a ball traveling down Memory Lane and thinking about who I was then and how I've changed over the years...seeing friends' faces and remembering what made them unique and special...reminiscing about adventures Jeff and I had...sigh...it's been delightful.
Here are just a few of the ones that made me smile today:
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I found something else as I was cleaning out my folder on our computer. It's I Corinthians 13 for Mothers, adapted by Jim Fowler, and it speaks so clearly to my current life situation that I had to post it here.
If I live in a house of spotless beauty with everything in its place,
but have not love,
I am a housekeeper, not a homemaker.
If I have time for waxing, polishing, and decorative achievements,
but have not love,
my children learn cleanliness, not godliness.
If I scream at my children for every infraction,
and fault them for every mess they make,
but have not love,
my children become people-pleasers, not obedient children.
Love leaves the dust in search of a child's laugh.
Love smiles at the tiny fingerprints on a newly cleaned window.
Love wipes away the tears before it wipes up the spilled milk.
Love picks up the child before it picks up the toys.
Love accepts the fact that I am the ever-present "mommy,"
the taxi-driver to every childhood event,
the counselor when my children fail or are hurt.
Love crawls with the baby, walks with the toddler, and runs with the child,
then stands aside to let the youth walk into adulthood.
Before I became a mother, I took glory in my house of perfection.
Now I glory in God's perfection of my child.
All the projections I had for my house and my children
have faded away into insignificance,
and what remain are the memories of my kids.
Now there abide in my home scratches on most of the furniture,
dishes with missing place settings,
and bedroom walls full of stickers, posters, and markings.
But the greatest of all is the Love
that permeates my relationships with my children.
2 comments:
I find the photos that mean the most to me after many years are often not the ones I was pleased with at the time. They're photos of people ("look how small he was!") and of familiar places which I seldom photography because I take them for granted ("the trees on the front lawn were so small then!"). I, too, hope to be an old woman enjoying my memories one day! (so few people really get that chance)
I am totally stealing that 'Mothers' poem...it's really lovely and a nice reminder. :)
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