My mother has this obsession with bags.  Not just nice bags, any bags. She’s been saving bags my whole life. She folds them into tiny little squares and shoves them in her pantry between some box and the wall waiting for when she needed one. These bags didn’t have to be particularly pretty or even

sturdy.  They were all used, and sometimes marked up, crinkled, water marked, food stained. But that doesn’t matter, she says, since “You never know when you need one.” And when I visit she always needs one. She can’t bear to send me home without giving me something in one of those bags. 

I say this in complete love and affection. It’s quite sweet and a little weird. You see, the things she chooses to give me can sometimes be a little odd. I mean, its not like I can’t go to the corner convenience store and pick up my own bag of barbeque potato chips or one can of Diet Coke. Sometimes the bag is so full of things that I don’t even get to look through it all the way to see what ‘s in there. There are times I’ve left it overnight and woke up with melted ice cream sandwiches on my counter.  Who knew mom would pack  ice cream sandwiches in her bag? It’s not like I asked for them. But I am thankful.  I understand she loves me, and my family and that’s why she bags us.

One day while visiting my mom she caught me as I was leaving her house.  “Pam, I have something for you.” I knew it was a bag and don’t you know my mom came out of the kitchen with this crumbled up brown paper bag.  This particular bag looked like it had been through the mill.  It had wrinkles down both sides and was frayed at the top and ripped at the beginning of a crease where it had been folded for a very long time.

“Okay, okay,” I said, taking the bag and kissing her on the cheek.” I didn’t even wonder what was in it. It sat in my kitchen overnight and eventually the next day I thought to empty it.  Inside with the usually bag items, half of a frozen pork roast, a coffee scooper and a small box and an envelope. The note read, “I made my original old worn out wedding ring into earrings for you.”  And inside the box were two diamond earrings.

I was taken back that something so beautiful and thoughtful could be hiding in a package so damaged.  I thought of my mom and how she slid it in there without mentioning it.  Why in the world would she put two beautiful diamond earrings in a food stained bag next to half a frozen pork roast? It reminded me of what Paul says to the church in Corinth.   He tells them that we carry God’s message of love in clay jars, imperfect and easily broken. Imperfect vessels that are just sturdy enough to carry that message.