Hope Chest. A Note From Jan.

Kristina texted a photo of Maggie and Kate, all dressed up with no place to go. Maggie, the delicate fairy princess, and Kate, the younger, regal queen, wearing goofy grin and gloves much too large. School’s closed again. Still snowing. Time for make believe. Schedules plowed into mounding to-do lists.

Raining here in San Anselmo, misty with occasional sun sightings, not torrents like before. Nest rests, secure somehow in that spindly tree. Beyond the tree looms Mt.Tam. Can’t see that sight without thinking, “I lift my eyes unto the hills…from whence cometh my help… my help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth.”

And so I look up and rest in my nest secure in truth that doesn’t wash away when storms come.

As a child in Illinois, I recall snow days when school closed and I stayed home. It’s when Mama, momentary fairy godmother in gingham apron, opened her magic box….that mysterious piece of furniture called a HOPE CHEST. Once opened, scent of cedar filled the room and out poured dreams and deeds-to-be, inspired by Mama’s wedding dress and other treasures kept safe for days when storms force you inside.

I’ve outgrown most of my need to play princess, queen or some form of make believe but not my need for a hope chest. When life sends a nor’easter to the soul, experience teaches me to head for my treasure chest, lift the lid and inhale perspective. Then start digging for lost treasure. Treasures found in people, places, attitudes, disciplines, storm-safe truths and interrupted schedules, marvels sometimes disguised as mere moments.

Then, again, sometimes, for some storms, all I’ve really needed is a pair of gloves that fit.