Jars of time

Rows and rows of glass jars line the wooden shelves. I gaze at them, my mind racing excitably, pondering the treasures I will choose to fill them with. My mother-in-law's voice in the background, inviting me to select from her stockpile.

I pause, my eyes lingering on the tall, square-bottomed mason jars. I already envision the earl grey tea bags placed in seemingly random order, presenting themselves along the curves of the jar, lined perfectly beside another jar of white beans that are waiting for the crisp winter day slow bake in the oven. Torn bottoms of cardboard boxes, ripped open manufactured plastic bags, half-sealed ziplock bags now replaced with gleaming, transparent, orderly, bronze-rimmed mason jars. Picture perfect. Martha perfect. Pantry perfect.

As I load my kitchen treasures into my arms, Wanda's words of her mother wrap around me like a blanket. "Some of these jars were used by my mother, and she passed them onto me," Wanda remembers.

This same cold jar, heavy with memories, sits in my hand. The words Dominion MASON WIDE MOUTH are etched into the finger-printed glass, the bronze rims tarnished and forever marked by days gone by, the seals worn ~ gently breathing a soft popping sound as my fingers absently play with the seal. Used by her mother, used by my husband's mother, now used by me, a mother. Three generations. Two handfuls of jars. One title of mother.

My quest is an orderly pantry. What of the others? What treasures were poured into these jars in the yesteryears?

I suppose with a family of eight living in a one-room home in a small Alberta town, Grandma Bieber had limited resources and infinite appetites to worry about. Pickled beets, freshly packed jams, garden-grown carrots were undoubtedly preserved in these same glass jars.

What else filled these jars? Was Grandma worried about tomorrow's dinners? As the sauces simmered on the stove, did she wonder if she did enough? Did she wonder what to feed her children ~ beyond just filling their appetites, did she wonder how to feed their faith? Days fold over to weeks, weeks sprout into months, and years grasp our youth and season us with age. Through it all, the same set of hands carefully prepare the earth-bound prizes, the same tender fingers grip the bronze ring and turn gently to the right, sealing the jar for tomorrow's nurturing needs.

Like these jars, I want to hold nurturing wisdom within, ready to satiate my children's appetites for faith. I hold the same jar held by Grandma decades earlier. I am now the mother of a young family. My fingers now have to form the seal. I look to God to fill me with His heavenly treasures, sealing me with His spirit and readying me for nourishment. Lined up, labelled, transparent and timeless.

Just like Grandma.