"Each man has his own gift from God;
one has this gift, another has that."
1 Corinthians 7: 7
I'm a collector from way back. As a child I collected fancy paper napkins. In high school, candles. Pitchers, irises, fans.
I've enjoyed my collections, even as I've abandoned one for another. There’s joy in the searching, joy in the gathering, and joy in the sharing. And for me, the search usually starts where there are antiques. My favorite haunts are antique shows where dozens of dealers assemble their booths, teasing me with aisles and aisles of displays, just waiting for me to dive in. And drool.
As I enter such a show, my eyes scan the booths, skimming past the Fiestaware, the Depression glass, and the Monkees lunchboxes. Like a missile locking onto its target they find what they are searching for: antique purses.
Ooh, there’s a beaded one from the twenties. And another marked with a
Whiting and Davis stamp. There’s a Lucite purse from the fifties (the
fifties . . . does this mean I’m an
antique?) The purses are not in perfect condition, but the fact they have
missing beads, torn linings, and tarnished handles only adds to their
character. I make allowances.
I usually enjoy such gatherings,
quite willing to drown in the smell of old wood and dust. Yet on one day, in
such an antique-lover's paradise, I had trouble concentrating. Among the
Chippendale chairs and the tin toys I was drawn to the dealers instead of the
deals. A lady from Texas greeted every customer with a firm handshake and a
southern drawl. A dealer from Oregon charmed with a soft voice, wearing a
veiled hat. Another had a laugh that ricocheted off the glassware. Turns out
the people were as interesting and unique as the items they sold. They were collectible.
That's when I started collecting
people—or at least their attributes Smiles, thank yous, the twinkle in their
eyes. The way they sang in their cars, kissed their baby's nose, or offered me
their place in line. The by-product of collecting strangers' attributes was
that I began to open my eyes to some attributes in my own backyard.
I now notice how my husband
always warms my ever-cold feet when we share the couch—without me even
asking. I enjoy how our oldest daughter
Emily emails photos of family events within a few hours of getting home (I am
quite willing to relinquish the pressure of chronicling every gathering to her
able hands.) My heart swells when I watch the face of our son Carson light up
when he makes his new baby smile (wasn’t he
a baby just yesterday?) And I marvel at the stories our youngest daughter
Laurel shares (she's a special-ed teacher) about the students that challenge
her—and that are changed by her.
Once I started to look at the
amazing qualities within my own family, it became easier to skim past the parts
of their personalities I didn't want to collect. For just like antiques, my
family is not in perfect condition—and shocker—neither am I. Yet the fact we
have missing beads, torn linings and tarnished handles only adds to our charm, and
even our value. I make allowances for
them, and I appreciate them doing the same for me. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you
will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven." (Luke 6:37)
Priceless.
***
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