When I walk through the house in the dark, I try to keep a mental picture of my surroundings in my head. My memories guide my way as I trail my fingers along the wall, searching for door frames, or reaching out for furniture. In the bedroom, my fingers slide along the foot board of the bed, guiding my way in the darkness of the night.
We used to have a large area rug in our living room that belonged to Les' great-grandma. It was originally in her bedroom and there was a path worn in it on her side of the bed. We didn't mind the worn spot. It was a visual reminder of the many times grandma had risen from her bed to take care of someone, start breakfast, or put the turkey on for Thanksgiving.
While visiting England some years ago, I was especially fascinated with the evidences of age. Hundreds and hundreds of years of history surrounded us all the time. The dip in the center of stone steps in a castle where thousands of feet had trod. A stone frog in a cathedral worn almost beyond recognition by countless generations of hands trailing across him on the way to worship. This was evidence of the all the people who had gone before, all following in the same paths--whether to the top of the tower to defeat the enemies or into a church to glorify God.
I wonder if the pathways my fingers follow each night will become worn with time and if the wooden pieces of furniture will hold the memory of my fingers? Someday, will someone wonder who's hand rubbed the finish smooth along the dresser top? Will other generations of hands follow along behind mine, groping in the dark?
Will the pathways I travel become worn with time? Will my desire to follow God, to be obedient to His commands for my life leave a trail? Even as I struggle to follow His path, am I leaving one of my own that is distinct enough to direct future generations to follow Him? When I'm gone, will those pathways hold the memory of my prayers, my life, my feet?
Has my witness been a light to my family that will someday provide a memory to follow, even when the way seems darkest?
How am I leaving my mark?
Many stories herein are subject to the faulty, and sometimes creative, memory of the blog owner and should not be taken as factual, although the names and events are real! Kind of.