It's an old cliche, but still it came to my mind yesterday as I was walking through my in-laws' beautiful but now empty house.
In my mind's eye, I could almost see reflected off those walls the scenes that will be always in my memory. Scenes of opening presents on Christmas morning in the living room, bounteous Thanksgiving dinners in the dining room with all the family gathered around Mom's huge table, making homemade toffee in the kitchen, rocking my babies in the gliders and watching them learn to crawl at Grandma's house, my boys watching Papaw Sankey set up his train set on the table in the breakfast nook... If these walls could talk they would remind us of those happy times.
If they could talk, they would also remind us of bittersweet moments. Saying goodbye, hugging and praying with family members as we left for the mission field or for parts in the Far North, times of praying for sick loved ones, discussing concerns that burdened us all....
Walls don't talk and maybe we're glad they don't, but we'll always be glad for those warm memories reflected off the walls, but tucked away deep in our hearts.