My Hope Chest and Nate’s notes found there

For many years I’ve had a piece of furniture some people would call a “Hope Chest.” Several generations back, every young woman put together a trousseau, beginning in her teens, stockpiling items in her Hope Chest to be used at a future date.

Under the tutelage of a mother, grandmother, and aunties, she’d hand-make dresses, table linens, towels, bed linens, and quilts, adding decorative stitching to make them unique. Her “hope” would be to one day have her own home and family where the carefully collected chest-full of items would become her contribution to the start of her marriage. This tradition continued well into the 1950’s.

I loved the idea of a Hope Chest, though I didn’t have one. But years after I was married, despite having closets loaded with everything I needed, I asked Nate if I could have a Hope Chest for my 40^th birthday. We chose it together, and I filled it with sentimental items I wanted to keep: baby shoes, my Girl Scout sash, the mold of a child’s hand, my first piece of little-girl jewelry, a child’s art project, an engraved drinking cup, and about 50 other things.

This week I decided to dig for something from Birgitta’s childhood that she might appreciate as she approaches motherhood. Gradually I emptied the Hope Chest, enjoying the written explanations and memories accompanying each item. And when I got to the bottom, I found a lovely surprise: Nate.

Even though he’s been gone for nearly 3 years, tucked into the cedar-lined corner was something I don’t remember putting there: a ZipLoc bag full of his handwriting.

Well over 200 notes and letters filled the bag, each one dated, most about 10 years old. Apparently I’d tucked them away before we moved to Michigan in 2009, before Nate’s back trouble, before cancer, before death. Picking up that bag stuffed with his thoughts brought a little squeal of happiness out of me, and I tucked the whole thing under my pillow for later, anticipating a mini-visit with Nate each night for quite awhile. Looking at several pieces just before turning out the light would be a sweet something to anticipate through each day.

I had no doubt my “find” was God’s doing. He’s a Person of deeply felt compassion for each of us. Although he’s far too grand to know him completely, he orchestrates wonderful “flukes” now and then, to let us know he’s very near. The cache of Nate’s notes was a reminder of that, and I shook my head in wonder at what a caring God he is.

When I finally began reading the notes (well over 200 of them), they reflected bits of carefree humor I’d nearly forgotten were part of those financially stressful days 10 years ago. But inside that baggie, God was communicating something else to me: “Please don’t forget.” And his reason?