Story behind the Wallet

 

My Dad kept his wallet in his back right pocket. I remember it being thick and full of things like credit cards, business cards, a little cash, a full year’s calendar, and notes he had torn from pieces of paper. There was also the plastic photo holder filled with pictures of me, my sister, and my mom.

Dad was very far from ever being considered rich, but you’d never know it from his wallet. If we were at dinner with another family, Dad was always the first to grab his wallet in order to pay the bill.

I never thought too much about his wallet until I had a family of my own and discovered how few rupees were usually in mine. I have since learned from my Mom how tight things were when we were growing up. They would talk privately, late into the night, wondering how they were going to make ends meet. But I never knew. Dad’s wallet always seemed to have more than enough as far as I could tell.

There was the time I found my wallet completely empty. I had nowhere to turn, except Dad’s wallet. A difficult and tear-filled phone call home resulted in an immediate gift which to this day, I have no idea how Dad’s wallet managed. Missionaries, after all, are almost always just barely surviving financially. There was never even the slightest hint of repayment.

As Dad grew older, the need for his thick back pocket wallet changed. New technology let him carry around his calendar and notes on his cell phone as well as dozens of photos of his family. Several years ago I noticed Dad’s old wallet had become worn out and it was time for a new one. I found a new slim-lined front pocket wallet and wrapped it up for his birthday. And the same way I bought a new one for my mom too. It was the last wallet she’d carry.

It’s funny how such a simple little thing like a wallet can become meaningful. Just this past week, my Dad and I returned from a trip and as we walked through the airport I mentioned I needed a new wallet because mine had started to fall apart. Shortly after returning home, Dad presented me with a gift. Yes, Mom’s wallet. The same one I had given Mom a few years earlier.

I love this wallet. When he gave me his wallet, he intended for me to use it completely and freely, just as if mom were standing next to me. And I did just that.

As I write this letter to you, Mom’s wallet is resting comfortably in my purse. It was few years ago the Lord took my mom. I can’t help but take Mom’s wallet out and look it over. Each time I do, sweet memories come pouring back. It has my things in it now, so I suppose to my kids it still is “Mom’s wallet.”

Over time, I know Mom’s wallet will wear down and eventually need to be replaced. That’s okay, it’s just a thing. But in many ways, it represents who I am, the choices I make, and how I live my life. And that makes me wonder what my children will remember when they think about “Mom’s wallet.”

May God give me the grace to “give what I cannot keep in order to gain what I cannot lose.”