The lines on the pages seem to mirror the lines on her delicate hands–traces of history, of years well-lived, whispers of stories told long ago.
My Mom and I are at the home of my Great Aunt Nina. Perched on a quilt-covered bed, she’s showing us our family history all the way back to centuries before.
I see families laughing together on front porches.
I read of births, deaths, the dashes in-between.
I look at leaves of my family tree blown in the winds of time.
One page lists family traits that have been passed down through generations: hard work, faith, honesty, and quietness.
These are a few of my favorite things–the heirlooms of the heart. The legacy woven, each new generation adding their threads, that goes on and on.
It belongs to none of us, to all of us, to the past and present and future.
I smile with the cheeks I’ve inherited from great-grandma, and grandma, and mom.
I remember I’m part of a bigger story.
And I thank the Author of life.
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{photo of my great-grandparents, Floy and Lewis Dobbins}
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