Writing on the Wall

The first day of spring! Time to tackle the house, one drawer at a time. Zay and I sat on my bedroom floor, legs bent like pretzels, and plunged through pajamas, T-shirts, and mismatched socks.

“What’s this, Mama?” Zay asked. He lifted a small piece of plaster from the bottom of the drawer. It was white, rectangular, rough around the edges, imprinted with a child’s script.

And it immediately took me back to another time. Another place. More-than-a-few years ago…

Lonny and I were moving, and leaving our little cottage-house was tough. It was loaded with happy times, warm memories. We brought two babies home to that place, and then later brought our boys home for school. We grew in life and marriage and parenting and in the Lord. We made sweet friends and shared sweet days. There’d been hard times, too. We'd grieved for my grandmother. Mourned a miscarriage. But all in all, good and bad, we lived in that house. Heart and soul.

That last day was frantic. And I was heartbroken. There were just a few hours before closing, and something important had been left undone. In the stairwell to the basement, there was a memory. Little-guy Logan, years before, had written a message on the drywall. “Logan Loves Mommy. Mommy loves Logan.” Plain and simple. I’d never painted over it. What Mama could? I wanted Lonny to remove that piece of drywall and replace it with a patch. I'd even mentioned it to my dad. But everyone was busy with boxes, and time had gone too fast. The memory had to stay behind.

When we left the house, the boys and I prayed, climbed into the van, and looked straight ahead. I tried not to think about the message on the wall.

A few days later, we were still neck-deep in moving, but this time, on the other end. Lonny hauled boxes to the kitchen, and I loaded the cupboards with familiar plates and bowls. I hardly noticed when my dad walked through the porch door. But he got my attention when he placed something in my hands.

The drywall piece.

Dad had gone in after me, removed the message, and patched the wall.

That simple piece of plaster made my heart swell. That day, years ago. And today, when Zay found it in the drawer. It reminds me of precious times, acts of love, and the gentle, tender hearts of my dear, sweet men. I’ll never forget that writing on the wall.

Because to me, in more than one way, it says “I love you”.