Unpacking

   About a month ago, I made my way to our attic to the two forty gallon rubber tubs that hold the belongings of my son Miles. I used them to pack up his life possessions about six months after he died. They contain all the usual things that a boy would own: radio controlled cars, trophies, an alligator head, pocket knives, and so on.  In one of the boxes, I found his most prized possession, his boots. They are not cowboy boots or rain boots but tactical boots, the kind his daddy wears to work everyday.  His father is a police officer. Except, Miles' were brown. His daddy's were/are black. Anybody who knew Miles knows he loved his boots. Whether it be January or June, Miles had on his boots. It didn't even matter if they fit.  He still wore them, rain or shine.  We love Miles' boots because they are the essence of who he was, a rough, tumble some boy who loved the outdoors and didn't mind being a little different, and looking different meant he looked a little bit like his father.

   I had taken the boots out to do a picture for my blog.  To be honest, I loved that Miles' boots were once again lying around the house.  So, I left them by our patio doors to look at as I passed in and out of the house.  Miles would never believe how important those boots have become to the Paxton household. 
   One day as I was standing in my bathroom getting ready for the day, I heard, clump, clump, clump.  I looked to my left and there was Jack standing proud as a peacock with his brother's boots on his feet. " Look, mommy. I have Miles' feet on." There he was, in all of his glory, with boots all the way up to his knee caps and a smile that covered the rest.  It made this momma smile one of those deep down smiles that warms you from the inside out.  He could not have been happier, mimicking his brother, and I could not have been happier watching him stumble around in those old boots.

   

   Seeing Jack in his brother's boots gave me pause to think about how he could be so proud of something that belonged to a brother he has never met.  Miles is real to Jack, or so, it seems. He is as real to him as rain.  I started to think about how we have conveyed Miles to Jack. Why has it worked? What lesson could I learn from seeing him in those over sized boots?  I began to wonder. Do we make Christ as real in our home? Do we make Him so real that my children want to reflect Him, that they long to be like Jesus? The answers were convicting. 

   Because Miles' life is so intertwined with the life of every member of our family, there is a natural outpouring of our heart that makes its way to our mouths and right to the ears of anyone who will listen. The conversation is not a list of Miles' attributes or a succinct description of who he was.  It is a constant flow of remembrances based on how we each related to Miles. Our constant talk is of a relationship, not on the idea of a person.

    Our home is filled with the remnants of Miles, the things that remain simply because of his presence.  You will not get past the front door of our home without realizing that each of our children are incredibly special, as is in most homes. Pictures of Miles remain on the walls, bookcases, and tables. Home videos are stored in our computer. My top dresser drawer holds a hand written book. Because Miles' life mattered, we hold close to the things that are connected to him. They have become precious to us.

    We made a choice when Jack came into our family that we would not take Miles out of our conversations.  We could have waited until the "right time" and sat down and had a conversation with Jack about Miles, but we wanted Miles to be a part of Jack's normal. We wanted him to become woven into Jack's life in the same way that we all had to begin to knit ourselves together as a family. He has never known life without Miles.

    All this to say, Have I done the same thing with Christ? Have I displayed the things of Christ to show to my children? Does He grace every nook and cranny of my home? Am I so involved with Him that I talk of what he has done for me, daily? Are there remnants of His presence that fill my home? Is He deeply woven into the fabric of my children's lives, them not knowing anything different? Have I made that choice?

    When I weigh these questions, I realize I have some unpacking to do, just as I unpacked those old boots that so remind us of Miles. I need to put on display and love the things of Christ. There should be somethings in my home that make Christ real to my children. I have a Bible that needs to be opened, and a mouth that needs to talk of my Savior as my Father and Friend, hymnbooks that lie around and a song of thanksgiving that fills the air, church bulletins, and prayer lists.  Some of these items alone are meaningless, but they are what remains when He has graced us with His presence.  They are the culminating results of a Spirit filled home.

     May my children never know the opposite. May Christ become so real to them that they want only to stand as proud as a peacock and say, " Look at me! I look like my Father!"  Even if it means, they look a little different.

Now...if you'll excuse me. I have some unpacking to do....