Treasures On Earth

Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. Matthew 6:19

Both my grandfathers were God-fearing, churchgoing family men. Both fought in World War II. I actually have the diary that one grandfather kept while he was in Europe for the war. I also have his very old copy of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales. I have an old Bible that belonged to my other grandfather. Needless to say, these three books are treasured items!

I also have several plastic tubs worth of mementos from my childhood— souvenir t-shirts, notes passed from friends in class, ticket stubs, collectible figurines, etc. Of all those things, I wonder which two or three items my grandchildren might someday count as treasures.

The fact is, most of it is not treasured, even now, even by me. I never look at it; it’s just stored away in boxes.

Sometimes I ask myself why, and I think about the relief it might be to throw it all onto a big bonfire and reclaim the space it takes up in my house.

What is this tension that we feel about our stuff? We feel guilty for keeping so much of it, but then we often feel guilty about throwing things out, too.

For one thing, history is important. The past does matter. It’s hard for me to put into words why those three books that belonged to my grandfathers mean so much to me, but they do. They remind me of two good men who were important in my life. Will those books matter as much to my children, who never knew the men who owned them? I don’t know.

And that brings us to the flip side of this coin. Eventually no one will be alive who remembers my grandfathers; and a couple generations later, no one will be alive who remembers me. So all these physical things we accumulate in the course of our lives have less and less meaning over time. Yet we hold onto them.

Why? Is it because we don’t want to forget? Or is it that we don’t want to be forgotten?

In the end, “both the earth and the works that are in it will be burned up,” (2 Peter 3:10). You might argue: the Mona Lisa will be burned up, yet we keep that. Well yes, some things are truly special and beautiful. But this:

… is not beautiful. If an item is not special enough to be on display, or perhaps to take up limited space in a fireproof box, then what is the point of keeping it? Does it give us some comfort in knowing “it’s here somewhere”? Do we really think our kids are going to go through all of this stuff when we’re dead? Will it mean anything to them if they’ve never seen it before or heard us talk about it?

Letters and pictures might. My grandfather’s war diary, quite possibly. But notes passed in school from friends my kids never knew? Ticket stubs from Cardinals games? If it were just a handful of things, those might be considered special by my kids or grandkids. But thirty-five tubs worth? I doubt it.

History does matter. We don’t need to torch it all. But I wonder if these mountains of items from our past don’t become monuments to an inflated sense of self-importance. Or the physical representation of mental and emotional chains that keep us from accepting change, including new things that God may be calling us to.

Sometimes nature forces us to part with things. Moth and rust destroy. Thieves break in and steal. (Matthew 6:19). Things get lost. Sometimes we make the choice to say goodbye to things that hold a special place in our hearts. Either way, it hurts.

But physical things can become a pointless burden, even an idol, and are temporary anyway. It is the spiritual heritage that matters most, the values that are passed down. When I’m gone, what will my grandchildren be forced to conclude was important to me?

By the way, don’t worry if in the near future you see smoke rising from my backyard….

Dear God, I thank you for both the physical and the spiritual blessings You’ve given me. Help me always to remember which is more important, and help me to use it all to bless others however I can. Help me to be a good steward. I ask for wisdom in the name of Jesus, Amen.

by Christie Cole Atkins