It’s the first week of January, and as I wake up, it’s still dark outside. I lay in bed thinking how the new year is already a few days old; time is a thief. The house is quiet, and the bed feels so good, but the coffee is calling my name.  

As I shuffle down the hall towards the kitchen, I see something out of the corner of my eye.  It’s faint as there is very little light coming from down the hall, I can’t make it out. I pause to turn on the lamp and there, on the floor by the fireplace, is an old suitcase I don’t recognize.  I blink a few times and wonder if I’m still asleep but I know I’m not.  I try to remember how it got there but I have no memory of it.  Finally, the coffee calls louder, and I decide to get a cup; I can handle anything when I’ve had coffee. 

I come back into the den and sit my cup on the end table in my favorite spot as I turn to see if the suitcase had been my imagination.  It was still there staring at me.  After a few sips of coffee, I wondered if it was left over from all the purging we’d been doing, but still, it was not familiar. I decided to just make sure it was empty, surely it was, and as I sat down on the floor beside it, my heart started to race a little. 

I put my hand on the latches and gently, as if I would disturb the quiet, I pop them open.  I slowly raise the lid. Inside were large stones, some cracked, jagged, and it was clear they were all heavy without even picking them up.  I was confused and thought maybe someone was playing a joke on me.  I even looked around the room to see if there was someone hiding but I was alone.  I turned back to the suitcase and finally saw in the lamplight that the stones had words and pictures on them.  I reached in to pick one up and there, engraved into the stone, was the word “Hurt” with a picture of someone I loved. I struggled for a moment thinking how much I’d felt hurt by this person this past year.  The picture, however, was not one of sadness, but of a joyful memory from some time ago.  As I held the heavy stone in my lap, I began to cry.  I thought about the happiness this person had brought into my life and how it caused the hurt to sting that much more.  I cried for what seemed like forever and eventually, I called out, “I forgive them, Lord, this is too heavy. I love them too much not to forgive.”  As I said the words, the stone seemed to feel lighter as did my heart.  I eventually laid “hurt” to the side. 

Filled with my usual curiosity, I reached for another stone, and on the next one, I ran my fingers over the word, “Judgment.”  I turned the stone as best I could, hard to lift it, and around the word were several photographs, almost like a collage. I expected to see the faces of those whom I felt had judged me, but instead, each one contained a person I had criticized, assumed the worst of, talked about, doubted, questioned…. I was embarrassed and ashamed.  I realized through my tears what I had done, I had judged all of these people, and was not even aware.  I cry out as the stone became heavier, “God, please take this from me, forgive me.  I am so sorry and I don’t want to judge, only you can do that, I just want to love.”  As I let the words go, the stone changed, and practically fell from my hands. I finally moved it to the side and leaned it on “Hurt.” 

One by one, I remove each stone from the suitcase, each one engraved with a reminder of things from this past year.  There were things that I’d endured that were painful, things I’d done to others, and some done to me, words like “Grief,” “Regret,” “Anger,” “Gossip,” “Doubt,” to name a few, all heavy just the same. Eventually, when my tears stopped falling, I laid each stone to the side until the suitcase was empty.  Almost.     

My eyes were as tired as my heart and mind but yet clearer than before. I then see it, a note, at the bottom of the empty suitcase.  It was on the softest paper, folded, and on the front, it read, “For My Daughter.”  I sat, frozen, thinking about my Mom and Dad, knowing this handwriting did not belong to them.  I picked up the note thinking maybe this suitcase wasn’t meant for me at all. As I opened it, I saw the most beautiful handwriting I’d ever seen, almost magical, and I read…   

“My Dear Girl, 

I left this here for you.  This suitcase contained many things from the very year you just left behind.  I was hoping you would leave it there, but I could tell your heart was carrying them with you, so I thought I’d help you get rid of them.  As you read this note, it means the suitcase is now empty.  You have let go of the things I don’t want you to carry. You have forgiven those who need it, and so have I; you, my child, are forgiven.  I hope you will leave this suitcase empty, tuck it away, and if you must fill it again, fill it with love, happy thoughts, good memories as they’re made, and Me, leave room for Me always.  I love you, my child, I always have, I always will. 

Signed,  
Father God” 

I laid on the floor that early morning, and yes, I cried, tears of relief, joy, release, feeling the lightness in the air, and then I giggled like a toddler at Christmas.  I was his child and I was free.  The suitcase?  I thought about making it kindling, but instead, I set it aside, choosing to use it for an adventure, or better yet, to hold all the good coming this new year. It’s empty, after all, and I have a lot to do to fill it.    

jcg

An original writing of hope by me in my own efforts to go into the new year without the heavy stuff, with prayers for Him to take them from me, and prayers you will let Him do the same for you.