It is with great pleasure I bring you today's guest, Kristy Cambron.
By the world’s standards, it’s not worth very much. This locket is tarnished and has a clock on the
It was not long after my birthday that Dad was admitted to the hospital for a recurrence of the leukemia he was supposed to have been in remission from. And while we couldn’t know it at the time, this would be the last gift he would ever be able to give me.
It was wrapped in robin’s egg blue tissue paper – my favorite color. He’d had it for a while, he said, but wanted to give it to me in person and it kept slipping his mind. Until he was in the hospital. He had a lot of time to think then. He handed it over, sheepish almost, and said: “You don’t have to wear it or anything.” But I knew what it meant. My father loved his two daughters and was proud of them as any father could be. But gift giving was sort of my mother’s department growing up. She signed the cards, and managed the holiday gifts. So this locket (for a daughter whom he knew loved Paris) was something that he couldn’t pass up. My guitar-playing father was at a festival with his musical group and something on a shopkeeper’s table caught his eye. I like to think that God sent a little sunshine to glint against it, causing him to pause and think of me.
I’m moved by stories of nostalgia – by the beauty that can be found in nominal things that carry the magic of a story with them. In The Butterfly and the Violin, Adele (a violinist fighting for survival in Auschwitz) received a golden butterfly clip from her love. Its value was little in the world’s eyes. But in hers? That clip aided in her survival. She held it every day in the camp, like a treasure that would remind her of days long since passed. I like to think the metal was tarnished and the engraving rubbed smooth after a time, just like my beloved locket. For Kája (an art teacher to the children of the Terezin ghetto) in A Sparrow in Terezin, it was a cross necklace. Again – it was a gift given on the wings of falling in love and to the world, it wasn’t worth much. But to her? It was a link straight to her heart. An outward symbol – a reminder of sorts – that there was a love greater than the hate that surrounded her.
I carry my Paris locket up on every stage in which I speak, and keep it close at every book signing. It’s a treasure that means more to me than I can say. What about you? Do you have a treasure that holds a story – one in which the worth can’t be measured?
Kristy Cambron fancies life as a vintage-inspired storyteller. Her debut historical novel, The Butterfly
Kristy is an Art/Design Manager at TheGROVEstory.com and holds a degree in Art History from Indiana University. She lives in Indiana with her husband and three football-loving sons, where she can probably be bribed with a coconut mocha latte and a good Christian fiction read.
You can connect with Kristy at:
Lovely story...Thanks Kristy!
I hope you enjoyed the post. Stay tuned for more great treasures, thoughts and spotlights.