house

Sandcastles

| Marie Griffith

My kids love the sand. When they were younger, they spent hours building sandcastles. They smoothed over the perfect spot for the castle, then gathered wet sand near the edge of the ocean and hauled it back to the construction site. They pressed the sand into molds, turned them over and patted carefully so the tower or wall of the castle came out perfectly formed. They worked diligently to create their sandcastles. Sometimes they finished their project before the tide came in and sometimes they built the castles in a place the tide couldn’t reach. But eventually and always, the sandcastles were destroyed. Either by the ocean or the beach walkers.

Jesus told a story about building in the sand. It’s found in Matthew 7:24-27.

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

In this short parable, Jesus compared two types of hearers and two types of builders. Here’s a simple way to look at what he said:

The hearers who do what Jesus says = wise builder

The hearers who don’t do what Jesus says = foolish builder

According to the story, both the wise and the foolish hear the same words and both builders work to build their houses. The only difference is the foundation.

Jesus mentioned two foundations – rock and sand.

Do the words of Jesus = rock foundation = house stands

Don’t do the words of Jesus = sandy foundation = house falls

Jesus closed out the Sermon on the Mount with this story, but offered no editorial comment. He let the crowd sit with the image of the collapsed house. The crowd was amazed at His teaching, but Jesus wanted more than that for them.

Jesus started the same story in Luke 6:46-49 with these words:

“Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and not do what I tell you?”

Doing what Jesus says makes all the difference. It’s the difference between heart change and lip service, integrity and duplicity, a tender heart and a calloused one. It’s the difference between choosing the hard work of forgiveness and holding a grudge. It means we walk the walk, not just talk the talk, and we reflect His glory instead of seeking our own.

I’m learning to be a wise builder and I’m thankful God won’t leave me to do it alone.

He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.   Psalm 40:2

 

All the chisels I’ve dulled carving idols of stone
That have crumbled like sand beneath the waves
I’ve recklessly built all my dreams in the sand
Just to watch them wash away
Through another day, another trial, another chance to reconcile
To One who sees past all I see
Reaching out my weary hand, I pray that You’d understand
You’re the only One Who’s faithful to me
All the pennies I’ve wasted in my wishing well
I have thrown like stones to the sea
I have cast my lots, dropped my guard, searched aimlessly
For a faith to be faithful to me
Through another day, another trial, another chance to reconcile
To One Who sees past all I see
Reaching out my weary hand, I pray that You’d understand
You’re the only One Who’s faithful to me

Jennifer Knapp

 

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Our House 

| Marie Griffith

There’s something special about getting to renovate the house I grew up in.

In the process of removing the existing floors I’ve discovered the floors I walked on when I was a little girl. The brown and gold flecked linoleum in the kitchen and the solid hardwood in the bedrooms.

In our attempt to remove the wallpaper in the back bedroom I found the green and yellow flower patterned paper that decorated my older sisters’ room when they were teenagers.
And I found pink walls underneath the wallpaper in my dad’s office which used to be the room I shared with my younger sister when we were in elementary school.

I’d forgotten the floors and the yellow and green wallpaper and the pink walls. These discoveries have unlocked a flood of memories.

Like the time I was sitting in my sisters’ yellow and green bedroom listening to Elton John’s Tiny Dancer on the radio one Saturday morning.

And now I remember sharing our bedroom with my grandmother for a while. She slept in a hospital bed beside our bed and I was scared.

And when Mom cooked oyster stew and I only put the milky part in my bowl to eat with oyster crackers because I don’t like oysters. Or when Dad showed me the way to eat cereal so that the little Krispies wouldn’t stick to the sides of the bowl. I sill eat my cereal that way.

I know other memories will come. Sweet, sad, and joyful ones. Maybe some scary ones, too. I am who I am because of the life that happened in that house and the people that loved me there. Those that taught me there and cared for me there.

Mom and Dad struggled there and forgave each other there. Dad took care of Mom there. We all learned there.

Learned to live and care and forgive there.

We all learned to love there in our house.

But I am like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God; I trust in God’s unfailing love for ever and ever. For what you have done I will always praise you in the presence of your faithful people. And I will hope in your name, for your name is good. 

Psalm 52:8-9 

Heritage

Piles

| Marie Griffith

Four weekends ago my sisters and I sorted through, looked at, and wondered at the amount of stuff in my parent’s home.

The kitchen cabinets held more than we could have imagined. And so did the hutch in the dining room. Mom collected pretty tea cups, candle holders, various colors of taper candles, vases, figurines and other unique glass items. My dad’s office held the pencils, pens and highlighters that sat on his drafting table. An assortment of matchbooks, business cards, rubber bands, old stamps, pocket knives, his ledgers, old to-do lists and all kinds of items filled the drawers of his desks.

The closets were full, too. Mom’s clothes were sorted by color. Dad’s for convenience. Her favorite blouse hung in hers, his old work shirt in his. Dad’s old puffy Alabama jacket that Mom hated hung in the foyer closet. The card tables and chairs we used on holidays leaned against the wall and the bucket of toys that all the grandkids played with were there.

There were stacks and stacks of books, old records, and photographs. Collections of CDs, and piles of tables cloths, blankets, and bed sheets. Dishes, cups, pots & pans. Silverware and cast iron skillets.IMG_2777

Old metal Folgers coffee cans filled with nuts and bolts and screws. Some with hinges, or wire, or batteries.

Piles and piles and stacks and boxes of stuff filled the house.

Our hearts are full of cherished memories, some painful ones too. But more than anything our hearts are piled high with love. Lots of love.

Because our parents loved us and did a good job. They weren’t perfect and didn’t parent perfectly……who does?  But they prayed for us and we always knew they were there for us. Always.

Now everything is boxed up……the house is almost empty.IMG_2846

But our hearts are forever full.

 

In response to the Daily Post’s Taper.