Plain and Precious Things

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Last night after work, I brought home two new pieces of furniture. I finally bought a dining set, which is the first real table I've had since I was divorced, and a couch, which is the first couch I've actually ever bought. Over the weekend, I got everything moved and cleaned in preparation, and while I think they look nice and will make the house feel more like a home, I'm not really about things. I'm more excited about the few pieces of collectable scrimshaw that adorn the bookshelf in the living room and a particular picture that hangs in the 'family room'.

I've had this picture for a very long time, at least since high school, and it is precious to me.

Now some people might think differently about it, and that's ok. Everyone can have their own opinions; they can also keep them to themselves if they like. The button was worn by my high school chemistry instructor on the first day of my senior year because teachers were supposed to help new students find their way (which is what teachers are supposed to do with all students, but I digress), and he didn't want to help anyone, so when I asked him for the button, he gave it to me.

Over this Christmas holiday season, I was able to reflect and discuss our morbid fascination with 'stuff'. I love this illustration of all the consumerism of the holidays when we go around telling ourselves that "all you need is lots more stuff":

I do own a lot of stuff. The things I keep mean something to me. I have a single lone shoe on the bookshelf, some lapel pins, an hourglass, a lump of coal, and a few other pieces of scrimshaw nobody else understands or would ever want. They are things I keep to remind me of events, experiences or people that mean something to me. They are precious to me.

For Christmas, my paternal grandmother, whose husband died in April 2011, gave us all books from grandpa's personal library. It was on that occasion that I told my father that I had grandpa's personal serviceman's editions of the Scriptures, which I have had since we ended up with his serviceman's trunk back when I was in high school and they liquidated stuff to sell their house and move into something smaller. Since they mean something to me, he told me to keep them, which was a small kindness. I actually do read them from time to time, as they fit nicely into the inside pockets of my suit.

In the end, the plain and precious things to me actually end up being things people can't take from me. Sure, they can take my books, my pictures, and my souveniers, but they cannot take my knowledge, my memories, or my faith. While my decor and furnishing accurately reflects my interests and activities (as well as the fact that I'm a single male who lives by himself), some of the items also indicate what matters most to me. I suppose those values were cemented at an early age when, as a scout, I learned to love God, Country, Family and Self. Those are really all the things about which I care and the order in which they matter to me.

For those of you who earned a way into my heart and memory, thank you for your company and contribution to my life. Even if you think you are plain, know that you are precious to me too.