Collections

People collect things.

Collections usually tell us something about the collector. Ben collects IRL driver stat sheets. Phillip is collecting Transformers and Molly collects everything! My parents seem to be collecting doctors' bills and Angelina Jolie collects children. What we collect can be very revealing.

Collections can range from the ridiculous to the pricess. For a while, as a child I collected dryer lint (I'm still not sure what that says about me). Tony collected newspaper and magazine articles about athletes that interested him. The father of my fellow allergy mom, Melissa, spent his life collecting watches.

Some collections are of your choosing, but others are thrust upon you. I suspect my sister-in-law doesn't really intend to collect snow globes. But even in that, the collection reveals something about her.

Collections are usually a work in progress. They are in an unvarying state of unfinishedness, which is perhaps what draws people to them. A constant "something to acquire" list -- or perhaps a driving "to do" list; or "more is better" philosophy; it probably depends on the collector.

Recently I've been fascinated with collections as my father unearthed my grandmother's cross collection. It was something I had heard about over the years, but as my grandmother passed away when I was just three-years-old, it was more lore than something tangible to me. I had seen bits and pieces of the collection -- including losing a cross when I dressed as a nun for Halloween at age 8! But this Fall, my dad pulled out every piece of it. All 400 plus crosses.

The captivating part of collections is the stories that accompany them. And boy do these crosses have stories.

It began during World War II when my grandfather was the pastor of a Disciples of Christ church in Kansas City, MO. He gave a $5 bill to members who were being sent overseas in the military and asked them, "to be on the lookout for an interesting cross for Willina," (a.k.a Grammie). Crosses arrived from Europe and around the globe.

As a school teacher, my Grammie was drawn to studying the various forms and history of the cross and created a presentation which she gave to dozens of groups. A number of newspapers even featured articles about her and her collection. One cross is covered with woven human hair; and the oldest cross is from the 13th century. My grandfather added crosses he made out of alabaster to the compliation, and my father even added a glow-in-the-dark beauty to the grouping! Grammie lovingly placed it next to some of the most "valuable" crosses.

While the stories of the majority of the crosses died with my Grammie, my father decided that it was time that the collection had a new story. So he chose a select number of crosses to go to First Christian Church in Boulder, CO where my grandfather served as pastor and where the collection came to its final form. Those crosses belong there -- sharing their stories with all the people who walk past their display. Following Ben and Molly's recent baptism, they were allowed to peruse the collection and choose the crosses that spoke to them. Both of them beamed with pride at their choices and keep them in a treasured spot. I have selected a cross for Phil when it is time for his baptism.

My siblings and I also selected crosses that caught our fancy. I can't wait to find the perfect spot for my stained glass beauty. I need to hang it where I will see it every day. It is a concrete reminder of my dad, my Grammie and my history through God. But that's not it for this collection. After the personal crosses had been picked out, my father put the remaining 350 plus crosses on display for the congregation at our current church. He invited each individual present to select one or more to take home with them.

I watched as a 10-year-old girl gleefully skipped up to me to show me her cross, and I watched as a quiet Asian immigrant contemplated the cross he chose as he left the church that morning. I received an email of thanks from one older member as he shared with me his affection for my folks. The people were as diverse as the crosses. I can't tell you how much joy watching that collection dissipate brought to me and my father. It was the right thing to do.

A colelction can be a stagnant grouping of meaningless things that do nothing but collect their own dust, or a collection can be turned into a dynamic statement of love and affirmation of life. for these are the things we truly should collect!

The Perfect Gift (December 2007)

Each year, I relish in the hunt for the perfect gift for loved ones. I try to listen carefully throughout the year to little clues dropped by unsuspecting friends and family and delight when they unwrap a truly wanted object on Christmas morning.

But "the perfect gift" is becoming more and more elusive. Last year, I had to stoop to asking for ideas for what might go under the tree. Even when asked, many of my family members couldn't come up with "the perfect gift." Instead, they responded with "well, I guess a shirt," "perhaps a sweater," and "rechargeable batteries."

That's when I knew that sometimes the perfect gift cannot come from a store but instead must come from the heart.

I made an announcement to all concerned family members that I would not be participating in a commerical Christmas that year, and I invited them in joining me in thinking about "perfect gifts" that might be homemade. But again the reponse was underwhelming, "I'm just not creative," "What could I make?" "Do we have to?"

With this decision upon me, I was filled with the spirit. How could I seize this opportunity to show my family how much I loved them? What coudl I do to help us all recapture the true spirit of Christmas? How could I bring back the story of Jesus' birth, the grand but simple gifts of the magi and the wonderous generosity of the real St. Nick?

I tried to so some research. There were plenty of websites that offered ideas on gifts that don't cost a cent -- like the "gift of listening," but I still wanted something that I could wrap and place under th tree. I didn't want to give gifts that looked like a second-grad art project or "coupon books" never get redeemed. I was looking for gifts that would be treasured.

The heart-made gifts for my parents were relatively easy. I took a favorite photo of me and my mom and decoupaged it onto a "Useful Box to Put Things In." I researched and tracked down the ingredients for my father's favorite pie -- rhubarb -- and attempted to bake one. I put together a list of "What My Parents Taught Me" and printed it out on beautiful paper.

My sibs proved harder. I made my sister an inspiration box. I decorated a box and filled it with 31 strips of paper with daily affirmations and declarations of my love and admiration for her. For my brother, I put together three easy to cook recipes and gathered all the needed ingredients.

Christmas morning came. Colorfully wrapped gifts burst from under the tree. There was the usual melee as people passed out their presents. My heart-made gifts were well-received.

My parents joined with me in eschewing store-bought gifts. They had worked together compiling a scrapbook for each of their three adult children. The books were filled with memorabilia from their personal histories, as well as photos and school work from our own unique personal histories. they were a surprise and provided the opportunity for each of us to relive our childhood together. They were a reminder of what is truly important in this world -- family.

I don't know what this year's Christmas will hold. I know that I have told my family how much they mean to me. I know that they know I love them. So will I turn back to looking through the malls for the Perfect Gifts for my loved ones? Perhaps this year, we'll figure out a way to take the Spirit of Christmas out into the world and give not to each other in our small family -- but as a small family find a Perfect Gift for others in our big family in the world.