The Genuine Article

Last weekend, my husband and I did some antique shopping.  I, at least, was looking for potential birthday presents.  He said if I found something that just leaped out at me, that he might buy it.  In January I had just that sort of experience, when I spied an Art Deco teapot (all orange and black); the same thing might happen again!

We were looking on all of the shelves and through the old books and in the glass cabinets.  There were many things that I was mildly interested in, but nothing really grabbed me.  Then my husband called me over to one of those locked glass cabinets, where there was a beautiful shiny teapot (or maybe a coffeepot) with a rainbow of colors on it.  Beside it was a creamer and sugar bowl, and a few tiny cups.  The information we could get through the cabinet was that the set was Chinese, and the price tag was beyond our means.  So my husband took a picture, but we went home without it.

Once home, we went on the internet to try to find out more about this piece of pottery.  We didn't find a lot of information, and what we found was not conclusive.  It was possible that this could be a reallly old Japanese tea set, very collectible, but it was also possible that it was a reproduction, as there were reproductions of this style all over the world.  How would we know whether this was "the geniune article" or not?  Was this beautiful piece really valuable, or was it just a lot of glitter, something shiny but not substantial?  That is the question.

It seems to me, at this Easter time, in the midst of all of the glittery and impressive stories of Jesus' resurrection, that this is the question for us as well.  And in fact, this was the question for the disciples as well.  It was amazing to see him again.  They were wondering and disbelieving and afraid and joyful, all at the same time.  But was he the real thing?  Or was his appearance just something shiny and not substantial?  That's the question.

why I like antiques I

I remember the first time I drove into the driveway of the big parsonage at my first church in Vienna, South Dakota. I was the last car in a caravan hauling all of my belongings from Minneapolis, and as I drove up there were at least 50 people standing in the front yard, waiting for me. They got everything unpacked and in the house in record time, and served sloppy joes (known in South Dakota as "barbecues") and lemonade besides. As everyone left that evening, I heard one of the men say something about me living in "that big house all by myself." And I didn't have much furniture either.

And I didn't have much money either. So I started shopping at antique stores. There were two advantages: I could get better furniture at a lower price, and I could pay a third down and wait until I had the rest. So I got an old dresser, a rocking chair, eventually even a desk. I also found a few old kitchen supplies (remember glass pyrex refrigerator containers?) and decorations.

I enjoyed looking for antiques as well because I often found things I remembered from growing up. Suddenly, those things had become valuable. My aunt's Fiestaware, which I loved for its bright colors, had become a treasure. Multi-colored pyrex mixing bowls, my grandmother's juice glasses (rare), aluminum iced-tea glasses: all were lovingly displayed as if they were not ordinary kitchen ware, but something dug up on an archeological expedition.

Depression glass is a great example. Oftentimes it was a premium. It came free with the purchase of something else. Now there are depression glass bowls worth $100 or more.

There's something gracious -- and hopeful to me in this. Especially in our time when it's so easy to throw things away when we are done. The idea that as things age, they may increase in value: that is a wonderful thing to believe. Because I think that now it's more common to believe that things (and people) become useless as they age, not more valuable.

I think that heaven is God's antique store -- and there we will all be displayed, we will be seen as the treasures we are in God's eyes. He'll blow the dust off us, tell us we're beautiful, and actually use us -- even if we aren't in mint condition.

visiting another era

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 50, which seemed a surreal event. (How did that happen?) My husband decided, for one of my presents, to take me antiquing in the small towns around Minneapolis. We visited "Keepers" in Faibault, and someplace called "Tom's Mini-mall" in Owatanna. I particularly like to look at old Hall pottery and Hazel Atlas glassware, and old children's books. On this particular day (approaching 70 degrees, sunny in the Twin Cities) I looked at a lot of old children's religious books. I bought a particularly cute one, called Prayers for Little Children, from the 1930s. It also has ideas for mothers and fathers, who are teaching their children how to pray.

We ate hash browns for breakfast. We had milk shakes at Culvers. We didn't listen to the car radio all day.

Then we returned home, and I got online. 32 people dead at Virginia Tech. That seemed surreal. I read an online Newsweek account about a student who text-messaged her brother and her mother, while hiding under her desk. I tried to hold together the images in my mind -- the cherub-faced child in "Prayers for little children", and the stalking gunman in Blacksburg. Both images seem surreal. Reality is more complicated. Moments of enormous evil and strong goodness co-exist.

Maybe what I like about "antique world" is that it can't be changed. But the present and the future: in these times I have the opportunity, I have the responsibility to try to work for change, for the kind of world I want.