
“All that I come from, all that I live for, and all that I’m going to be, My precious family/Savior/Jesus is more than an heirloom to me.”(“Heirlooms” by Amy Grant)
“Your house is like a museum,” remark folks who first step over the threshold. I never know how to take that statement these days when the minimalist movement reigns supreme. Usually, I just smile and usher people into my home, full to the brim with antiques, old photographs, books, and family heirlooms. Unabashedly sentimental, I am the keeper of family memories and ours is a house of carefully curated collections. Following Marie Condo’s advice, I only keep what I love, and I love a multitude of beautiful things, especially my Christmas heirlooms.
Each ornament has a story; the Nativity figures are the carriers of childhood memories, and each Christmas book unlocks new insights that echo across time with every reading. (A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, and The Birds Christmas Carol by Kate Douglas Wiggen, are two of my all-time favorites.) My old Christmas teapot, cups and saucers, and dinnerware, some full of nicks and scratches, have graced decades of family and friends’ dinners. I offer a Christmas blessing from my favorite poinsettia wine glasses, hand-painted by my daughter many years ago. All are sacramental to me, containers of food and drink that nourish the mind, body, and spirit.
Like the proverbial broken record, I remind my grandchildren that the stories behind the heirlooms are what matters. They bind us together in a faith that looks through the trappings of possessions, prestige, and power. This is not about material things at all, but about what they represent: a tradition focused on connections, deeper meanings, and the hidden inner light emanating from every corner of life.
I hope my grandchildren will want some of the heirlooms I have saved for them. However, what I hope the most is that they know their worth is far more precious to me than anything I own. Love is the only heirloom to pass on to future generations.