There it stood in the upper reaches of the barn. With brass hinges and ornate handles, the solid oak icebox harkened back to the old days before the dawn of electric refrigerators in America (ca. 1927). This aged beauty cooled food probably from the late 1800s and continued its usefulness well past the genesis of electric cooling. The first GE (General Electric) refrigerator was a modern marvel that cost $520 (about $7,000 in today’s economy); thus, it was not until the mid-1940s that it hit the mass market, becoming affordable to most of the population. But there stood this old icebox, year after year, unused and largely forgotten, except when I would see it during my explorations each summer during childhood visits to the farm.

Grandma and Grandpa were not ones to resist the advancement of modernization; in many areas of life they were ahead of their time. But they also were the quintessential “make-do” practical kind of people. Indoor plumbing did not countenance their farm until sometime in the 1950s; they could make do quite adequately on hand-drawn well-water and their two-seater outhouse. Nevertheless, their advancing age was accompanied by the wisdom of making life easier wherever possible. So, in time, the icebox was relegated to the second-floor storage, where they kept it apparently as a fallback in case the electric one didn’t work out. You never knew when the old-timer would be needed to bail out the slick new and fancy modern so-called appliance.

Back in the old days, though, iceboxes were the norm. Typically, they were made of hardwood, like oak, with three compartments, one high and two half-size. Municipalities typically cut ice blocks from a surrounding lake and stored them in large “ice houses.” Ice storage know-how has been around for centuries, as archeologists have discovered from cuneiform records of the Sumerian civilization (ca. 1775 BC). Packed with an abundance of straw for insulation and incorporating an elaborate drainage system, ice houses could store the frozen commodity through the warm months into the next winter season.

With many lakes in northern Minnesota, ice houses abounded. One of the more interesting ones was owned by Dorothy Louise Molter, who had the affectionate moniker of “Root Beer Lady.” She lived on the Isle of Pines on Knife Lake in the BWCA (Boundary Waters Canoe Area), and it is reported that she had upwards of seven thousand outdoor enthusiasts visiting her each year to enjoy her signature root beer made right there on the island and sold in recycled soda bottles! (Due to new government regulations, which began to classify her operation as a “resort,” she changed her business to a donation-based “service.” This move probably netted her more income from happy canoers on hot days).

The delicious non-alcoholic brew was cooled with ice from the stock of frozen H₂0 from the previous winter’s harvest, stored in her island ice-house through most of the year. She was a bona fide celebrity of the north woods! And, if you permit me a bit of unabashed name dropping, my grandparents were friends with Dorothy!

The old icebox at the farm probably came into service in the late 1800s when my great-grandparents procured the land and settled there. It was built to last a lifetime and longer; it was about five feet high, three feet wide, and eighteen inches front-to-back. A block of ice (delivered by horse and buggy) was placed in one compartment lined with tin-sheet, while the food was kept in the other compartments (relatively small amounts by today’s standards).

Years later, as an adult, I imagined this gem restored to its original beauty; what to my ancestors was a functional necessity, to me had the potential of being an exquisite piece of heritage. With sanding and polishing, I could make it look as good as or better than new, bringing out its original, ornate magnificence.

Alas, the passing of time thwarted my best intentions; the busyness and complexity of life crowded the icebox out of priority in my life. Finally, my grandparents passed away and dad (Jack, Jr.) disposed of the house, barn, and property. My childhood memories became untethered. Upon visiting Ely a few years later, I found myself browsing around town, revisiting past memories, and stopping in a tourist store that displayed souvenirs, Ely artifacts, and curios of various sorts, all for sale. And there it was, the icebox, the one to which I had laid claim but had never taken into my possession. The store owner confirmed it came from the Gianotti farm sale. It was now refinished and beautiful—and the price tag was exorbitant! Its purpose, though, was no longer to chill food but to showcase the souvenirs and artifacts for sale and ultimately to become a showpiece in someone’s living room.

In its younger days, that old icebox served its purpose well as an essential and integral part of family life. But, over time, it was replaced by newer, younger technology that was more skilled at refrigerating food. It was relegated to the storage background of life, unappreciated, unneeded, and sidelined from any usefulness. Its past handsomeness was now obscured by age. Dust collected on the top like thinning grey hair, its hinges exhibiting arthritis-level stiffness from years of sedentary non-use, the once cool ornate brass fixtures tarnished away to a decidedly old-school look, and the once richly colored, glossy oak finish faded into dullness. No one went to that old piece any longer to refrigerate food, nor did anyone go to it for learning how to keep food cool. Yes, that old icebox grew old and was no longer useful for its original purpose.

Yet, at the hand of an expert refinisher who saw the beauty of this fine piece of furniture, life came back—it was renewed and repurposed. That reminds me of God, who is not only the Master Designer of all life but also the Master Restorer of life. No matter how old we are, how useful or useless we feel, or how insignificant we think we are, past our prime, God is our Re-creator:

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come. (2 Cor. 5:17)

With Him, all things become continuously new; every day is a fresh start. He does not want to simply refurbish what we had or who were in the past. Instead, He wants to continually form us into new beings every day. What’s the catch, you ask? This promise is for those who are “in Christ,” who have put their personal faith in God. This is not a religion, a pious-sounding pretension to spirituality that is nothing more than a superficial nod to deity. No, this promise is for those with a living, dynamic trust in the One who created us and died on the cross for our sins. Let the words of the prophet Jeremiah sink in:

The Lord’s loving kindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I have hope in Him.” The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the person who seeks Him. (Lam. 3:22–25)

This truth never gets old because the creator God of the universe continues to form believers into new creations, repurposing us but never retiring us. While our lives may be different now from when we were young, the Lord can still do a beautiful thing in and through us, and we are still valuable to Him!