It’s been a year since my sweet Mama passed. My siblings and I have spent these months packing up a lifetime of memories into cardboard boxes. All the while, we’ve unpacked some sweet memories, too, vivid remembrances shared within those walls.
A few weeks ago, the time came to sell our childhood home and give away the keys. The thing is, that house was built for us. No one ever lived in that hallowed space except my family. My dad contracted every part of its design with us in mind.
As I stepped inside that haven for the final time, my emotions burst open like a piñata. My thoughts raced up and down those halls with childhood recollections that seemed so near, yet lifetimes away.
I kept thinking to myself, “If these walls could talk….”
Hmm. If these walls could talk, they could share longings and losses reverberating inside those doors. They could describe the calm and the crazy (teetering heavily toward the crazy). They could testify, for that single mom with four kids . . . there was never a dull moment.
But if these walls could talk, I’ve got to believe their most pressing conversation would be altogether different. They would talk about the prayers they heard my Mama pray and how they watched God answer them. Those walls know better than most that the mama’s prayers held everything together while holding us together, too.
Through even the most tumultuous times, Mama believed God is Faithful to do everything He promised, whether we see it in this moment or not. She clung to that Truth like it was her lifeboat through storm-tossed waters. When life’s waves sought to pull us under, this lifeboat secured our safety. It kept us together. It surely kept us through it all.
I don’t know what you think about daily conversation with God, but you can’t talk me out of believing in its power. Growing up in that house schooled me on the power of prayer, “ivy-league” style. I watched God do the impossible time and again. I eavesdropped on Mama’s prayers inside her bedroom when she didn’t know anyone heard. She poured herself out to God. Then I watched God pour Himself into her.
If these walls could talk, they would shout resoundingly this Truth my Mama built her life upon: “For He who promised is Faithful” (Hebrews 10:23). God has never once out-promised Himself. He has never offered a check He could not cash. He’s never made a promise He cannot keep.
If your walls could talk, what would they say? What do you want them to say of you when you are gone? This is a question I have been pondering for myself.
As I spent those last moments in that cherished space, I decided those walls needed to keep talking. The new owners planned to re-paint, so I began writing on those walls the many Scriptures I watched become reality there. I just kept thinking of promise after promise God kept in that place of protection.
I don’t know the folks who will live in the place I once called home, but I do know they will live in a blessed place. They may not know why the Peace of God dwells so thick up in there. They may not understand why the goodness of God keeps invading every step they walk in that house, but I do. It’s because those walls are still talking and declaring what they have witnessed from the beginning: “He who promised is Faithful!” For comments or prayer, contact Dr. Lanier at PastorDebbie@HopeCommunityChurch.tv.