Last year I went to visit my aunt for a few days. She lives in Richmond, Virginia and has a great sense of what matters to her.
She is not, in any sense, materialistic but one who has a deep sense of sentimentality and of what holds value for her. She was washing the dishes and left me the job of drying.
Each cup and saucer, each spoon, fork or knife, was washed with a tenderness of touch that was something to behold. I knew that she knew these dishes to and from a depth, I most likely could never begin to understand. Turning around, I pulled the dish-towel from its neat and tidy “parking spot” on the handle of the cooker.
I took a saucer from her and began to dry – she looked at me and then at the dish-towel in my hand; “Mama made that for me in 1946”, she said. I was holding a piece of material and she was living a memory. “I wanted a red and white kitchen when I was young”, she told me “and Mama made this for me”.
She saw beyond where we stood and looked into, what someone called: “A room named remember” and I was happy to stand in it with her. She was standing on “holy ground” and that’s good ground to stand on.
There’s something being said here about having a sense of our own past and story, in terms of church and faith, and placing a value on it – a value not measured in currency but in respect, love and loyalty.
Even a tea-towel has its story!