The dish!

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.