Recently while talking to a friend I found myself telling her a story I hadn’t thought of in years. I honestly don’t remember what Lauren said that sparked my recollection of this memory and subsequent story, but as the tears welled up in my eyes, I found myself in a bit of a personal revelation that surprised even me.

When I was about five years old, my dad’s mother passed away. One of the household items my dad received was my grandmother’s large oak sideboard. My parents placed it on the second floor in a storage area. I remember climbing those stairs and playing in that dirty, dingy area many times and without fail, I always took notice of the sideboard. It seemed so grand and elegant to me.

Fast forward ten years, my dad is gone and my mother has remarried and we have moved off the farm to a new place. Honestly, the last thing on my mind at the time was my grandmother’s sideboard and I guess I never questioned where it was—it wasn’t sitting in the dining room or anywhere else in the new house.

Strangely it wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties and married that I began thinking about that old, oak sideboard. I remember asking my mom where it was; what happened to it? She said she left it behind when she remarried—she never liked it and didn’t move it. It had been left behind. The only physical remnant I had from my grandmother was long gone. I felt sick to my stomach. And I have no explanation as to why it took me so many years to inquire about it. I suppose I can reason that because my life had been in so much turmoil beginning in my early teen years the whereabouts of an antique sideboard just wasn’t on my radar. I take little solace in that fact.

A few years later I went on a hunt for an antique sideboard and found one that was in good condition for a price we could afford. It’s very different than my grandmother’s German-inspired sideboard. This one has Queen-Anne legs and is much smaller than I remember my grandmother’s being. But my perspective may be skewed. We bought it 20 years ago this year and even though it is a little wobbly and doesn’t fit my décor or current style preference, I can’t bear the thought of selling or giving it away. In the midst of downsizing and getting rid of so much stuff, I can’t even contemplate parting with this piece of furniture. It has no personal family history for us—but as bazaar as it sounds, I guess it symbolizes—in a tangible way—my connection to my dad and his mom. It has served as a physical substitute for the sideboard left behind so long ago.

The tears that welled up in my eyes when telling this story to Lauren were not born from the sadness of not having my grandmother’s sideboard. The tears are about connection—connection to family whom we have known well and to those whom we have either known briefly or never at all. I was just a little girl when my grandmother went to be with Jesus. I never really knew her, but I honor her and I’ll probably just hang on to this substitute sideboard and think about her every time I look at it.

Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. “Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise—“so that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”

Ephesians 6:1-3

C. Deni Johnson