Pieces of a life. Photo by Bonnie S. Heisse.
I don’t think my body has done this much physical labor in years.
And today, it’s making sure I know it.
The storage container is divided into two sections—an upper half and a lower one.
Thankfully, ours is the lower one.
At five feet tall, I would need a step ladder to reach the one above us.
But there’s a downside to being on the bottom.
Bending.
A lot of bending.
Yesterday, I spent hours going through tubs, moving things around, deciding what stayed and what went.
Today, my body remembers every bit of it.
And I still have one more day to go.
But as I’ve gone through everything, I’ve realized I’m not just sorting through stuff.
I’m sorting through 25 years of my life.
After the fire, I thought I had lost everything.
Except my son.
But I’m thankful some of the other things survived too.
Because inside those tubs are pieces of a life I thought were gone.
Some things bring back good memories.
Others remind me of people who have gone before me.
People I loved.
People who were part of my story and aren’t here anymore.
For a moment, an ordinary object can bring them back.
A memory.
A voice.
A time in my life I haven’t thought about in years.
But not everything I remember is something I want to remember.
There are parts of those 25 years I would gladly forget.
Bad choices.
Terrifying moments.
Things I wouldn’t choose to go through again.
Life is full of both.
Memories we hold close and others we’d rather leave packed away.
But they’re all part of the story.
Every experience has shaped me in some way.
Not just what happened, but what I did afterward.
The choices I made.
The lessons I learned.
The times I got it wrong.
The times God redirected me anyway.
Looking back, I can see that even the parts of my life I would never have chosen weren’t wasted.
God was still there.
Still working.
Still shaping.
Romans 8:28 tells us:
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
It doesn’t say all things are good.
Some aren’t.
But God can work through all of them.
Maybe that’s what I’m really sorting through in that storage container.
Not just what survived the fire.
But pieces of a life.
Some I treasure.
Some I wish had been different.
Some connected to people I would give almost anything to see again.
All of them part of where I’ve been.
And as much as my back might disagree today, I’m thankful I have the chance to go through them.
Because this is what is left after 25 years.
Not just the things in those tubs.
Me.
And the story God is still writing.
🌿 One Dreams Writing — Finding God’s presence in everyday moments.