Christmas Countdown 2023…Day 5

Some of my resume entries found me more than I found them. One of the shortest lived and oddest ones was birthed out of a volunteer position I had taken at the church. I saw a notice to help make copies for the children’s department. Our three were older in school so I was happy to come in for a few hours a couple times a month and help out. 

One day as I was running curriculum through the copy machine in the office, our pastor asked if I would consider working part time as an assistant to a staff person who he was concerned was doing too much work for her current health situation. I said I was fine to come as a volunteer, but it seemed important to him that I be paid for it.

Let’s just say it was the shortest job I ever held with the least amount of details about my actual duties. For a while I came at the appointed time, but there didn’t seem to be much work to be done beyond cleaning out a couple of storage closets and getting things sorted onto the correct shelves. Like so many of our closets and drawers at home, people had been dumping things in this large closet of shelves and a good overhaul was needed. 

Anything I found that didn’t have a labeled place on the shelves was stacked in a pile until I could check with my supervisor about what to do with them. Sometimes a new labeled area was created and sometimes it just got pitched. 

One of the things we pitched was a collection of sea shells. It nearly killed me. I have my own collections from my childhood trips to the beach along with the ones we gathered with our children and now our grandchildren. I display them in bowls and jars throughout the year. Even the broken ones are kept and cherished. 

But mine was not to question why, so I added the boxes of shells to the garbage bag of assorted other things that didn’t make the cut. I tried not to think about it. 

Eventually I got the storage areas decluttered and there didn’t seem to be anything else that was needed for me to do, so I turned in my hours, accepted my pay and wondered what that had all been about. 

It was only in conversation at another time that I discovered the shells had belonged to someone else on the staff. They were not just inventory, they were someone’s collection. Of course the person who directed me to throw them out had no idea, but I felt horrible. I had been a part of someone losing something that had meaning to them. Granted she had left them in the storage closet and possibly forgotten they were there, but still. Someone’s keepsakes had gone to the dumpster by my own handiwork. It still hurts to think about. 

I have lost keepsakes myself. When our family moved from Newfoundland to Offut Air Base in Omaha, my dad stored our household items in a warehouse until his housing became available. An arsonist set fire to the warehouse during the time we were waiting to move in and we lost all our furniture and household possessions. 

My parents had to replace furniture and clothing for us, household appliances and kitchen needs. And of course they were able to make a nice home for us again. But my mom grieved many times over the years as she would remember things that had been lost in the fire that were irreplaceable. 

Another move after that resulted in some missing items once we got settled. My mom noticed a few things that had not made the trip, and finally concluded that the movers must have failed to deliver one of our boxes. 

Among the missing items was a nightlight from my old room. It was ceramic and was shaped like a house for the three bears, as in Goldilocks. There were little rooms and furniture and Mama tucking baby into bed and I loved that light. The warmth and love it portrayed was comforting to me as I fell asleep imagining that bear family moving about in that small space, preparing for their own bedtime. 

Possessions and keepsakes hold more than monetary value. They are deep reminders of the emotions and memories that are attached to the object. You can buy seashells. You can  always go to the beach again, and collect more. But the ones you found on that early morning walk with your grandsons in their pjs, the ones your children brought to you in buckets and begged you to take home…they are more than just ordinary sea shells. They are a slice of your history and a reminder of the experience and the people who shared it. 

My nightlight was a constant in a world that changed a lot with moves to different houses. For whatever reasons that I may have needed it, it made me feel that things were safe in that house. The warm glow of light in the three bears home helped a little girl prone to fear of the dark to fall asleep. I would love to have that lamp to show our grands. I think…no, I know, Caroline would love it as I did. Even picturing her making up stories about the family as she drifts off to sleep makes me cry. 

And that is the essence of our keepsakes. They are not material possessions that we have clung on to like idols. They are reminders of the good and beautiful things of life like love, family, solace, times shared, places visited. 

We are, of course, temporal beings on a journey that leads to eternity. The stuff of this earth will be left behind, but while we are here it certainly is important to us to be able to have some collections…some things that spark the memories and remind us of the blessings of times past. 

I wonder what you would share with me about the things you treasure from your childhood. I think how I would love to hear your stories and see the things you hold dear. I think it is why we enjoy finally seeing a friend’s house. It gives us insight into the heart. Perhaps you have a story to share with someone after reading this today. Please do share and listen and please be so very careful when you handle the keepsakes of others. 

Remember always that the value is in the heart of the one who holds the treasure.