First thing yesterday morning I warmed a big pot of water on the stove.  I wish I could say I was making something fantastic for breakfast, but the truth is I was preparing my bath.  I much rather have hopped into a hot shower instead of a slopping around in the sink with a pot of hot water but we'd been without hot water since Monday evening. During all the rain here in Atlanta, our basement flooded.  Not much, but enough to take out the water heater.  Just a water heater.  A minor inconvenience.  (An expensive inconvenience - but still just an inconvenience.)  So we made do.

But I also see the things I've held on to because they capture a moment in time, a memory that can't be replaced.  I see those things and I'm torn - are they just things? 

Like my favorite picture of my grandparents, taken while they were in Europe some time in the 50s, looking like movie stars, so happy and in love. And another picture of the two of them years later, much older, still so in love and one of the last pictures I have of Granny before she left us. 

Or the few pictures I have of my father with me as a baby.  I have virtually nothing of our history together and any piece of that is priceless. 

Then there are the countless pictures of my children. Smiles and silly faces from moments in their lives I cherish.  Like the day they decided to rake leaves and quickly realized it was wild fun to bury themselves in the giant mountain of red, gold, and brown until all we saw was their adorable faces peeking out. 

Or the day I was playing around with black and white film in my camera and managed to  capture what has become my favorite picture of the three of them together. 

Could I stand to lose those pictures? What about the others I treasure so much? Are they just things?

What about my Granny's china? It was given to her as a wedding gift by her church when she married my Grandpa.

And what of the few things I have that belonged to my sister? Her Bible, her diploma, her favorite baby doll. Those are the only small pieces I have left of her to hold, to touch. 

All these, so precious to me, are they just things?

Obviously I realize that in the order of all most dear, it's family and friends who are the fabric of my life.  Losing any thread in that rich tapestry is devastating. But it's because I know that loss already, because I've seen that tapestry become frayed and start to unravel, that I'm so fearful of losing the things I hold on to.  They're priceless, precious treasures.  Touchable memories.  Maybe it's just sentimentality, but, in truth, it's probably deeper than that. 

However selfish it must sound in light of all that others have lost here, I'm thankful that all I lost in the recent flooding was a couple hot showers. So many families have lost so much more.  I can't imagine what that must be like.

When you lose absolutely everything, every thing must feel like more than just things.