He paused with his hands hovering above the dishwater, water dripping from his almost man hands.
"What would you take if our house were burning down, and," he added quickly, "if everyone were already out of the house?"
I stopped and stared at him, my mind filing through items.
"The passports, birth certificates, and a laptop because of photos, I think," I told him. "It wouldn't be the first time I'd walked away with only the clothes on my back, you know!"
But really, things can be replaced, yes, even passports. What really gripped my mind was the image of all my kids and husband out of the house. Safely. Together. They are my priceless treasure.
Houses crumble. Cars give out. Clothes need to be replaced, and new sheets to take the place of the tired out old ones.
Do we remember that our things are just things?
Do we forget that our homes do not define us?
What about the refugees who sit huddled next to each other, their law degrees lost in the face of insulated blankets and endless wait for paperwork to make it through?
Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow — carefree and so alive (Luke 12:27).
Take in the beauty of the evening hush; the sky painted with soft pink and orange.
Feel the excitement as your baby squeals excitedly over a ladybug crawling up the iris stem.
Let's remember what really matters.
Love your family, your people.
We are but a moment — let us live it in gratitude.
If you have love, if you have people, you are so very rich.
We are wealthy, not in things or because of things, but because of love.