BAKER'S NOTES

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Sunday was the first anniversary of my mother’s death. Our family marked the day by joining over a Zoom video conference to remember my mom and to celebrate the birth of my brother’s first grandchild. Below is an article written by Dianna Butler Bass that reminded me of my mom’s hope chest. 

Hebrews 11:1-3

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Indeed, by faith our ancestors received approval. By faith we understand that the worlds were prepared by the word of God, so that what is seen was made from things that are not visible.

Luke 12:32-34 

Jesus said to his disciples, "Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

My mother had a hope chest, one of those old-fashioned wooden boxes with a hinged lid, once a commonplace piece of furniture. Few items in our house intrigued me as much as that locked chest.

I loved when she opened it and let me rummage through the treasures stored there. Old clothes, antique linens, a box of buttons from an elderly aunt, out-of-season blankets, odd pieces of silverware, dolls from her own childhood, pressed flowers from corsages, and worn baby clothes - everything smelled of lavender. She told me that she’d placed letters there that she’d written to my father when he was a sailor. Her wedding dress once took up the entire chest, a voluminous gown of Chantilly lace.

There was never anything of particular monetary value in the hope chest. Rather, it held my mother’s dreams manifested in paper, lace and linen, and sterling spoons - the essence of her faith in a future of love, family, and home. Whenever she opened the box, she did so with reverence, lifting out its contents as if unpacking altar cloths. The chest was the household sacristy cabinet, the holy of holies.

These verses from Hebrews and Luke brought back the memories of my mother’s chest - her hopes in a box, her treasures locked under the stairs.

I don’t know if we think about it very often, but hope is a treasure. Of course, we can’t really store it up - it can be fleeting. But we often keep mementos and souvenirs that symbolize and embody our hopes. My mother died a dozen years ago, and the hope chest is gone. I still have some of the items, though. Her modest treasures remind me of her belief in love, of her sense of calling to be a mother, and of her conviction that all would be well. The locked box had held things - meaningless to anyone outside of her circle - that reminded her of faith, hope, and love. The humble items she saved were icons of things that were difficult to see, especially when life was disappointing or hard.

I think Jesus would have approved of my mother’s hope chest. We human beings can certainly live without things - we can lose the material stuff of our lives and go on. But we also benefit from “treasures” that point toward the real wealth of the heart and heaven. It can be hard to know perfect assurance, or to maintain conviction of that which is intangible. It helps to hold tokens in our hands, the artifacts of hope that remind us to press on. Sometimes things seen make more real those things that remain unseen.

It may appear to be nothing more than a box to store treasures, but a hope chest can be a bit like the wardrobe to Narnia - by lifting the lid we discover a world of wonders. You never know what is just beyond the coats and blankets.