Voices From the Past

I am a 10 year old little girl.
I have just gotten into bed for the night.
I hear the call of my sister from across the hall as she says, “Night Mama.”
Mama’s answer to her is followed by my brother as he calls out from his room.
Back and forth we each say our good-night wishes to each other.

Quiet falls over the house. It is then that it happens.
Someone, not always the same one, calls out, “Goodnight, John Boy.”
A refrain of Goodnight Irene follows, this time coming from another room.
It didn’t happen every night but it happened often.

If I lay very still and quiet in my bed tonight I can faintly make out those voices from the past.
Oh, how I would love to lay safely in that little girl bed one more time and hear the sounds of the house as it settles. Nothing to worry about but the games I would play when tomorrow arrived. Snug and safe in a house with the doors standing wide open as we slept.

The freshly washed sheets I lay on are crisp and smooth. They are filled with the smell of the sunshine and wind that dried them. I watch the shadow of a moth flitter across the ceiling above my bed. Crickets sing a lullaby written especially for me as the whipporwhils join in on the chorus. Everything else is still and quiet. There are no human sounds except the sound of my daddy’s snores dancing down the hall to my room.

I wonder if my sons will hold memories like these from their childhood? Have I provided the same safe, warm, loving environment that I experienced as a child? Will their memories bring joy to them as they lay in their beds 30 years from now? Will they long for one more story read to them by a mother who loves them dearly? Will they fondly remember the things that today are merely routine tasks? I pray that God reminds me daily to create a memory for my boys. May I be purposeful in my relationships with those around me and supply my loved ones with precious memories to keep them company for many years to come.

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