To say Mom was a great saver would be an understatement. She saved anything and everything. Today while going through some of her saved items, I came across a letter I’d written to my grandparents years ago. I took a moment to read it: Dad had twelve litters of piglets to attend to, my sister was waiting for her ewes to lamb, school was good, and my social calendar was full. We planned to go to Darrell and Lana’s house for the Super Bowl. Darrell worked for my dad, and Lana, nine years my senior, was like the big sister I never had, always ready with advice on boys or life. We often got together to play board games and even took a family vacation together, eight of us piled in a Winnebago. What fun!

As I finished reading the letter, I tucked it back into the envelope and noticed another yellowed envelope. It didn’t appear to have anything in it, so I turned it over. Scrawled across the back, written in my dad’s handwriting: “Denise, call Pam”. That did it; the sentiment of the first letter along with this note caused tears to rush to my eyes, as memories filled my mind.

I thought of Dad’s office where the house phone sat on his desk. In the swirl of paperwork, he likely wrote on the first available slip of paper. Seeing his handwriting caused a lump in my throat. I hadn’t seen it in quite some time, since he’d passed away thirty-five years ago.

My mind then went to Pam. She had been my closest friend in high school. We were inseparable, and although we went to different high schools, we both participated in several extra-curricular clubs, and had plans to room together at 4-H camp that summer. Her family was a second family to me. Then unexpectedly, Pam died. One night we had been talking on the phone about our boyfriends and social world, and the next morning she was gone.

Weeks later, Lana was hospitalized with hepatitis. I remember visiting her there, holding her hand and looking into her jaundiced face and eyes. She expressed sorrow about Pam’s death. Then Lana died too, leaving behind her three young children. She was only twenty-five.

That summer, responsibilities mixed with grief kept our family going as we spent time with Pam’s family, and tried to cope while caring for Lana’s three children so their father could work. Then somehow, forty-five years later, I held scraps of paper that testified of the fullness of Lana and Pam in my life so many years ago.

A simple letter and a quickly scribbled message; treasures that surely mean more to me now than when they were written so long ago. Mom must have recognized their value too. Good save Mom.

Finding these made me ponder: What was I leaving for my loved ones to remind them of our life together? In our fast-paced, text and delete, move-on world, what might they stumble upon that would cause them to reflect on days we shared? I thought of the photo books and my journals filled with lessons learned. Perhaps my blogs. Regardless, I want to be more intentional about what I’m leaving behind, so my true treasure, my family, will have the joy of stirring up memories too.

Matthew 6:19 - 21 "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. (NIV).