Collections

I went to an estate sale last week-end. It’s not something I would normally do, but my wife wanted to go, and she assured me we could find wonderful treasures there. I think she might have been right, if we had been there a day earlier.

As it was, most of the good stuff was already gone.  The things that were left were the kind of things you can find at almost any garage sale.  Little machines that grill sandwiches, old radios, drip coffeemakers, and all those “as seen on TV” gadgets that everybody buys and nobody uses.

I made my way down to the basement, hoping to find some overlooked jewel. This was the lair of the man of the house. The man-cave. The retreat from the world. If there was ever any guy stuff of real value, it would have to be lurking in the basement.

Unfortunately, I arrived too late. The fishing lures were all picked over and the tools were almost non-existent. Many of the things that were left were obviously the result of the woman’s invasion into the man’s territory. Christmas ornaments lined a back wall. Along one side was a stash of Mason jars and a few pots and pans. But there was one stash left that was a bit curious.

In the center of the room, filling shelf after shelf of bookcases and tables, was the largest collection of National Geographic magazines I have ever seen. There had to be thousands of them. Every issue since 1943, almost 70 years worth, was neatly placed in slip cases and shelved. Then, the shelves had been covered with plastic to protect the precious collection from moisture and dust. All around the shelves were more shelves with boxes and bags stuffed with multiple copies of many years. Post-it notes labeled the boxes and issues, chronicling the passage of time on the old yellow magazine covers. It was obvious that the owner of that collection had been buying other collections for years, just so he could complete his own.As I stood taking in all those mounds of magazines, I thought it a bit sad. This collection was obviously so important to the guy who left them behind. Now they were just some of the last bits of worthless junk left at the estate sale. Chances are, this pile of magazines would eventually make it’s way to the dump. Hauled off by some grumbling relative who wonders why he got stuck with the job of disposing the mess. The same relative who is probably collecting something of his own.

We are all collectors. But most of us don’t collect anything we can take with us to the grave. Most of us are collecting stuff that will someday mean much less to someone else than it does to us. We will leave our collections to others who will wonder why we collected in the first place. At least most of us will.

Perhaps some may realize before they die that there are treasures really worth collecting. Blessed are the ones who realize it early, so they have time to build up the collection before they die. Those few who learn to collect the things that really matter. Collections of friends, and memories of good times. Collections of service, invested in the lives of others. Collections of love and kindness, not kept to ourselves and stored in some basement, but given freely and spread around. Treasures, not left behind, but waiting for us, stored up in Heaven.