Some Treasures Can't Be Sold

"Martha" had been in one of my writing classes. When she died of cancer several years later, her children put her household up for sale. It appeared that they had little interest in so many items that had once been of such great value for Martha. All of her possessions--even intensely personal treasures such as scrapbooks, autographs, and photographs of her parents--were arrayed before us. And each had a price.

What had cost Martha so much to acquire and maintain had been reduced to a trivial monetary transaction between strangers. That's a sobering thought. The children will, I suppose, eventually realize some financial gain once Martha's estate has been settled. And in the process, her treasures will pass to those who have no sense of the value that they once had held to Martha.

King Solomon was distressed to realize that the monumental acquisitions and accomplishments for which he had wisely labored would ultimately pass to another's control. And that person could be either a wise man or a fool. "I must," he said, "leave the fruit of my labors to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all that I have labored for."

Despite their benefits, things can be the source of some of our greatest frustrations in life. We buy them, but may not even use them. We move them, store them, and paint them. Then, in time, they pass on to someone else.

With only so many disposable hours in a day, our material treasures demand more of their share than they probably should. Even so, one day may find our own homes open to browsing strangers, picking and pawing our things in pursuit of bargains. A paltry sum will change hands, and something that had been of great significance to us will quietly pass to someone who may not have any special attachment to it.

As I get older, I'm becoming acutely aware of just how short life really is. Though thwarted at almost every turn, I'm trying to give less attention on things. But things have a way of holding us in a death grip. The cost of dealing with "stuff" is incalculable in terms of time and lost opportunity in other areas. Though they're exceptions to the rule, I'm even grateful that our two cats fall into the "low maintenance" category!

Someone truly said, "Material blessings, when they pay beyond the category of need, are weirdly fruitful of headache." Would not our limited resources of time, money, and health be better invested in treasures that will not eventually become trinkets in stranger's homes?

A friendly smile, a note of encouragement, a pot of soup, and a helping hand all cost little, but they will pay dividends after we're gone. Should our material "treasures" keep us from making investments that are of far greater value, treasures that never need to be sold?

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

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