The NewBec

I'm not who I was.

The Unexpected Word

I’m notorious for losing things…

…and then finding them in the precise place where I began looking for them… 3, 10, 100 times later.

(Please don’t tell me I’m too young to do this. I have done this for as long as I can remember being old enough to forget things & the fact that I’m “too young” to do so is not an encouragement. I’ll just chalk it up there with my old-fogey genuine desire to have a walk-in bath tub).

Most recently, I was trying to find a slightly-used pack of card stock.  I had used it for some birthday party invitations & some Veggie Tales place cards, but I knew I hadn’t even come close to consuming the whole package. It was around  somewhere. Determined to find the paper that was rightfully mine, I emptied the contents of my desk drawer, checked behind and under said desk, in all of the craft room drawers, under the bed in the craft room, under my bed, and in my closet several times each… as well as in a myriad of locations that were completely illogical.

I wanted to print these handy dandy scripture memory cards that are posted on Ann Voskamp’s blog. Who could resist such cute, square-ish & motivational memory aids? Printing is so much more efficient than writing. I do realize that, by this point, I had spent so much time searching for the card stock that I probably could have made my own cards in the same amount of time. It’s like the whole searching for the remote to change the channel scenario: it’s the principle of the matter.

And stubbornness. Most definitely it’s also stubbornness.

Eventually, the lost lot of paper was finally discovered… in a desk drawer. (You know, the first place I looked. Although it was the second drawer. I’m pretty sure that I actually picked it up at least twice.) Memory cards are printed & all is well with the world until I lose something again. Let’s hope it’s not my marbles next time.

In an unexpected twist of irony, as I was searching vigorously for the means by which to print memory cards, what did I come across but this stack of old index cards:

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More specifically, they were my late grandfather’s scripture memory cards, in his own hand-writing (organized topically and alphabetically, I might add). He met Jesus face to face when he was 89 years old, over a decade and some change ago. I wasn’t particularly close to my grandparents… we were more like once-a-summer visitors.  Still, I always enjoyed our adventures to NYC. We would take walks around the block to the local monastery as he carried a stick in one hand and a Bible in the other. I don’t recall him walking anywhere without his Bible… or his stick…which, by the way was a hand-carved multi-purpose toaster tweezer, oven rack puller-outer & defender of mankind.

These cards flooded my memory with the musky scent of old house mixed with my grandmother’s roast lamb, playing The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe in the 2-sided closet, picking at Grandpa’s mandolin, & trying to beat him at his own hand-crafted game of The Fox & The Hens. (At least I think that is what it was called. I’m really bad with names of people AND the names of things… which is why I need all the help I can get in the scripture memory department).

I have little of Grandpa’s earthly property in my posession, but I consider this stack of cards to be a very valuable one.  There is one thing about my grandfather that sticks out in my memory above all else and it is this lesson of integrity: “Your word is your bond.” He declared the phrase continuously, and as a result, I believed it.  I still do. To this day I can remember a particularly dramatic episode of yelling at my parents through a waterfall of tears in the depths of despair, “YOUR WORD IS YOUR BOND!” when they didn’t follow through on something that they said would happen. (To their credit I have absolutely no recollection if the scenario was in their error, something that simply could not be helped, or a misunderstanding on my part, but I still remember yelling it.) If you broke your word, you broke my heart.

God’s Word is His bond, His heart. He is the embodiment of truth.  He is the only real security in existence. But I can’t well-know that security without well-knowing His Word.

Despite any human shortcomings, the integrity of God’s Word, through the word of my grandfather, has continued to pass down through generations. I pray that we will not fail in passing along the truth, unforgettably.

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This entry was posted on January 5, 2014 by in Uncategorized and tagged , , , .
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