Pottery Bowls, Faded Photos, and Canning Jars

I turned the radio on the other morning on my drive up to Mom and Dad's house. The lyrics in a song hit a chord with me "you can't buy a house in heaven".   How true that is today as it has always been. I immediately thought of the things we collect and acquire throughout life and that none of it leaves here with us. I've been spending weeks cleaning out my parents basement, and it is pretty much coming down to old pottery bowls, faded photos, and canning jars. My Dad and I discussed not long ago about where does the keeping of sentimental items end. He has things of his great grand parents, grand parents  and parents and they will continue to be handed down but where does it all end. The tools are divided, Mom's glassware, and the contents of the fruit cellar, but honestly it is the little things that mean the most. A couple of weeks ago Dad wanted to drive by his great grandparents and grandparent's farm.  The "home place", where it all started for us Felton's in Rowlesburg. The foundation is all that is left of the original house. Old faded photos show a farm house, garden, chickens, children and dog.  All that make a family, but in the end a stone foundation stands and memories for my dad's generation. You really can't buy a place in heaven no matter how much material things you have or collect. In the end, someone goes through everything and wonders.  Some is kept, some discarded and other things given away. The longer I spend clearing cobwebs, scrubbing basement walls and floors and going through my parents basement where a collect of a lifetime of 60 years of marriage reside, I find myself wanting less and less and rather cling to the memories my parents made in the basement raising four children. We can not buy a place in heaven with things or take them with us but hopefully the memories do cling to our souls like the cobwebs to the ceiling in my parents basement.