Today, my grandfather gave me three boxes of glass jars that he had been saving for Mom to can vegetables in. He said he had forgotten to give them to her and me the last two times we were up. Now, he wanted me to take them, and I gladly did. They were jars from spaghetti sauce and olives, and I even saw one that had been filled with the glory that is tupelo honey. Now my backseat is loaded with glass jars lovingly saved for a daughter who will never see them.
This morning, my friend Shawn posted this amazing post about a jar of Mom’s jam that I gave him this summer.
Glass is something I don’t even notice when I look through it to see what’s beyond. Jars are hassles to be recycled or returned.
Until today. . . I am reminded that even the tiniest of almost invisible objects has been touched, caressed, filled, emptied, and treasured. Like a life.