When I was a little girl my parents had a small dish in their
bedroom that sat on the dresser. It was a very old dish that had a great family
history. It was a family heirloom that I was only allowed to look at. My Dad
would put his loose change in it .When the dish was full he would then empty
the dish and put the money in an old pickle jar in his closet. The jar was so
big and full and there was never a time that I could lift it. The dish was
white and silver and purple and was the shape of an oval. It was very old, it
was handmade and hand painted, of some type of china. I’m not sure what kind, I
just knew it was delicate and very precious to my family, and could be easily
broken. For as long as I could remember that dish sat on my father’s dresser.
This dish was very special as it was not only old but because of the story
behind it. My ancestor Karen Marie Neilson made and carried this dish all the
way from Denmark when she came to America and then on to Utah. This dish was
the physical symbol of her courage, sacrifice and dedication to the church. It
was the living embodiment of her testimony. It had come to represent all she
had given up and done for our family. When I was a grown married woman my mom
decided since her children were all grown that she could put it on a shelf to
show the importance of the dish. It lived on the shelf for many years with
grand kids and friends visiting their home and an occasional admiration of the dish. and when anyone would ask she would
proudly speak of the sacrifice it took for her ancestor to come to America and
join the church. We were all proud of the dish. One day a family came to visit
that was traveling through town on vacation. They were the family of my sister’s
friend who was home from College. It was a large family and they had just
enjoyed a good meal and the younger boys were beginning to get anxious to move
as boys will do, when have been in a car all day. One of them had a ball and
they began to gently toss it back and forth. The quiet game quickly became more
than it should have been. My mom saw the lack of wisdom such a decision could
be so she began to gently suggest they go outside with the ball to play. The
ball hit the shelf, knocking the dish to the floor. The plate shattered. It was
broken beyond repair in such small pieces that it was difficult to salvage all
the pieces. The mother of the boys was mortified and began to help cleaning
apologizing the whole time. She unknowingly, was making the matter worse by
vacuuming up any useable pieces and throwing them away. My mom smiled and
graciously said thank you it was just a plate. Don’t worry about it, it was
nothing important. Later my mom went through the garbage to try and salvage any bigger pieces hoping she could do something with it. She also cried in her room as she called me
and told me what had happened. I was the one who who was to receive it
as her inheritance. I was the daughter who had been named for that long ago ancestor ,who
had made all the sacrifice’s. As the I listened to my mother I asked her “did you get mad did you tell her what the dish meant?" I was shocked and little annoyed myself. Mom replied no it was over and done with, I didn’t want
her to feel bad about it, there was nothing else to be done. I got off the phone and wept
not because of the dish but because it was the forgiveness my mother had
shown, the compassion she had shown the mother and the boys. I cried
with the realization that this sacred family heirloom was not the dish, it was
the testimonies that have lived on down through the generations. It was living
as Christ had, it was through staying true and honoring Karen Marie's sacrifice by
making my own sacrifice's. That was the true heirloom. Some heirlooms can’t be
held or seen. Some are shown in who we are. Some are shown in how we live our
lives. We all have people, who have done something that tempts us to not
forgive, or have done something hurtful on purpose or by accident. We all have
Moments in our lives, when there is nothing else to be done, but to just
forgive. Just like this dish was fragile, our testimonies are fragile too. I hope I can recognize the true heirloom to be received and to be given.
