On Stuff

Last year, returning from Nicaragua, I thought I owned too much stuff—and valued it too highly. My role models were Daniel and Darling Aragon who had given to their church and school the land they’d purchased to build a home.

This first morning after returning home, I’m looking at the stuff above my office work station.

And remembering.

I purchased the brass owls one by one from my father. After retiring, he rescued brass items from Goodwill stores and garage sales across the country, polished them, and resold them—mostly to his children—after a long ritual bargaining about the price. When he learned I liked owls, he looked especially for them—and tried, unsuccessfully, to raise the price. At 86, he’s stopped collecting brass—and plays computer games instead.

This morning as I view the owls, I remember and I smile.

The book with is my own garage sale find—an ancient book rescued and repurposed, with the Serenity Prayer added on an open page: God grant me the Serenity to accept those things I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.

Wise words, this morning and always.

The mauve, embroidered fabric was added just last night. Hotel owner Iliana presented it to me when we left. “A gift,” she said. In our week’s stay, we had become more than customers; we now were friends. Touched, I gave her an autographed copy of On Mended Wings.

This morning, as a backdrop for the owls and the book, it widens my world.

This morning, returning from Nicaragua, I think this stuff lives out its rightful place.