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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. Joy is in the searching, joy is in the
gathering, and joy is in the sharing. And for me, the search usually
starts wherever I find 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 lunch boxes. Like a missile locking on to its target, I
find what I am searching for: antique purses.
(the fifties . . . does this
mean I’m an antique?) The purses are not in perfect condition, but
because 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 Chippendale chairs and tin toys, the dealers drew me rather than
their deals. A lady from Texas greeted every customer with a firm
handshake and a Southern drawl. A dealer from Oregon, wearing a veiled
hat, charmed me with a soft voice. 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 collectable.
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 babies’
noses, or offered me their places in line. The by-product of collecting
strangers’ attributes was that I opened my eyes to attributes in my own
backyard.
I now notice how my husband
always warms my ever-cold feet when we share the couch—without my
asking. I enjoy how our oldest daughter, Emily, e-mails 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
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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
are changed by her.
Once I looked 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 because 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 their 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 NIV).
Although my collections come and
go, I hope I never give up collecting attributes. Joy is in the
searching, joy is in the gathering, and joy is in the sharing. Good is
happening all around us if only we open our eyes and see it. The
special looks, idiosyncrasies, and attributes of the people in our
lives make them as collectable as precious treasure. And as such, they
are . . .
Priceless.
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