Toys

 

          He cut down cedars, or perhaps took a cypress or oak. He let it grow among the trees of the forest, or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow.  It is used as fuel for burning; some of it he takes and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes bread. But he also fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it. Half of the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, “Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.” (Isaiah 44:14-16) 

            This morning has been a morning of some welcome clarity both for my writing and for my life. As I walked the dog, it came to mind that I can tuck my clothes and toiletries in around things. I really don’t have a huge number of toiletry items that have to go with me. I will have to get rid of some food, but my big cooler would fit in the back seat of a VW Bug. The things I actually need to take with me could probably fit in that same car, with the dog, and have room to spare.

            But the toys… what would I do without all my toys? There are copies of Earth Fire to sell or donate and reference books that I know the library there doesn’t have. There’s Mom’s guitar, my computer(s), my sewing machine, my TV, and other things that I need to take. I may not even use some of the toys, but they have to go – in case or because….  Dad showed that it was possible. He used to regularly drive to Florida with his much smaller vehicle, with his clothes hanging from a bar over the back seat, but almost everything else in his trunk. That idea is laughable to me.

            Of course, there are two different perspectives on life. For Dad, the only “toys” he needed were Mom and the motorhome. Once he lost Mom, even the motorhome didn’t matter as much. It deteriorated with him. Life became existence. That’s one end of the spectrum. I feel like I’m at the other. What would I do without my toys? Two answers come to mind. I’d either do without them, or I’d buy replacements because what am I if I do not do? What am I without my toys?

            I know the true answer to that. I am I. Not having the toys doesn’t change me, but let’s get real, if we don’t identify ourselves in relation to our toys, we identify ourselves in terms of our relation to other people or in relation to our activities and accomplishments. It’s dangerous to ask someone you’ve just met “Who are you, really?” But we’ve no problem asking, “What do you do?” and “Are you married?” and sometimes, “Is this your toy? How do you like it?”

            Don’t misunderstand here. I’m not suggesting that we all need to get rid of our toys. I’m not suggesting we need to be like Abraham, holding the dagger over the heart of our promised heir.  I’m just contemplating the “chunks of wood” that I have am planning to take with me. Have any of them moved from being something I can use to benefit myself or others, and become something more or else? Are they things that I use, or are they things without which I cease to exist?