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Day 07 – A picture of your most treasured item.

It took me a while to realize what item I reasure most. When I realized what item it is, I am sad to report it is sitting in storage in my garage. You see, I have a hope chest filled with momentos of my life (diplomas, scrapbooks, art projects, journals, etc). My mind sorted through those items and none of them stood out as an item treasured above all. I know all things are temporary and while I value those items, I choose not to treasure them, knowing they could be destroyed in a second. My treasures are my memories, my hope, and my faith. Since memories, hope and faith are not items and therefore do not fullfill today’s assignment, I am left with thinking through the contents of my hope chest for something I prize above all else.

The hope chest is an item my mom insisted on getting her two daughters when we turned 16. My sister’s hope chest is gigantic and beautiful. It is made, I believe, by Lane Furniture and has a beautiful, soft finish to it. She got it on her 16th birthday as a sort of welcome gift into woman hood. I turned 16 a few months after my dad lost his job. My parents were struggling to make ends meat. I don’t remember what I got for my 16th birthday but I know it wasn’t a hope chest. This didn’t bother me because at that point I didn’t have anything to put in the chest and to me it was just another piece of furniture to add to my room. It bothered my mom though. She appologized several times in the years to come. Shortly before my last mile-stone birthday, 21, my mom rementioned her desire to get me a hope chest. Her finances were more stable at this point but still didn’t allow for expensive purchases of unneccessary furniture. While she made it clear she was willing to purchase a new, big, beautiful hope chest like my sisters, she made a seperate offer before making the purchase. Her hope chest was from her Grandma Ingrid of whom both my mother and I are namesakes. Grandma Ingrid immegrated by herself to the United States. Her story is one of faith. My mom’s offer to me was this hope chest. It is a small old chest with scratches, bumps and deformities from years of abuse; a far cry from the new, gorgeous, gigantic one my sister owns. It now holds a variety of my valued items, but itself is my most treasured item. Each dent or scratch holds a story about my family. My possession of it reflects the sacrifices my parents made for me.

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