The Basket.

We have a basket in our house full of rocks and shells. Stuff we have collected from various trips. It is our little stockpile of memories.

Some have names written on them like; Masada. We grabbed up at the top after a long walk up.
Some have nothing written on them, but have been given a name; such as a rock the size of my fist that looks a bit like a women's bodice. She is dubbed "Mother Love" because of her shape. We found that rock in the middle of a Wyoming field with our friends Nyla and Lynnea. The details are fuzzy, but I do remember walking single file through a dirt field because we were trying to get to an eagles nest and Scott got us to believe some sort of nonsense that if we walked in a single file line the eagles might not realize four people were encroaching on them? I still laugh about it.

There are shells and agates from the Oregon Coast, polished stones from a family member, a rock from our honeymoon in Hawaii, a smooth river stone which turns a turquoise color in water from some trip through Idaho.

The basket holds reminders of some of our best times together. The ones when we were able to slow down, listen and love easier. Times when we were quickly reminded of why we choose each other, why we choose a family, why we said yes to God.