As I was reading this morning I came across a passage about using the past as a tool to make decisions about what to do now or in the future.  The past is useful as a tool.  I then thought of my toolbox, the one resting in my hall closet.  It was my father’s lunchbox so very many years ago.  When he passed I took it to use as a place to keep my tools handy, holding in wait all those things that I might need to use to repair or improve my life today.

   So it is with my memories of the past.  There they are, resting in a “toolbox” waiting to be used to better my life or to help to make plans for the future.  I need those tools, but I do not live in the toolbox.  Why would I wish to live in that tiny, confining, messy place?  The toolbox is a wonderful, useful part of my life, but it is not my life.  Some of the tools are exquisite, such as the beautiful wooden level covered by a hand stitched, leather carrier made by my father.  It is so precious to me and I treasure it, just I treasure memories of him.  When I use it I am grateful for the gift of creativity that he passed on to me.  I use that gift as I use the level to make my world and, hopefully, the lives of others a better place. Then I close the toolbox up again, returning it to it’s place in my closet, ready for when I might need it again.  Image