The Stuff That Really Matters

"But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night you will have to give up your life; then who will get all these things you have kept for yourself?'" ~ Luke 12: 20

My father enjoyed stuff. He was a hard-core genealogist and had books, newspapers, magazines, photographs, silhouettes, and anything else that might remotely relate to one or more of our ancestors. He vacationed in cemeteries, collecting information for the family tree that now has over 250, 000 names in it. If an ancestor was an actor, Dad had the movie on DVD. If a baseball player, he had every piece of memorabilia ever made. The house was crowded with these things that brought him joy for a moment but only collected dust over the years.

Shortly before Dad died, my mother started going through his things. She gave my brother all things related to Scouting, as Scouting was something he and Dad enjoyed together, and she donated some of Dad's sports memborabilia to the annual auction to support the hospice that helped us during Dad's final two months. Most of Dad's things, however, ended up being donated to the hospice thrift store or simply were discarded. My brother asked if Mom was keeping anything of Dad's. She replied, "Yes, but these things all meant something to him. They never meant anything to me."

On the day Dad died, my mother and I were with him in the house. We felt a great sense of relief when he took his final breath, as we knew he was no longer suffering and finally was at peace. He had reported seeing Jesus and angels a few days before, and expressed his readiness to go Home. Mom and I didn't cry as the funeral home came to collect Dad's body for cremation and we ate dinner while watching Dad's favorite team, the Philadelphia Phillies. Mom had been going through some of Dad's magazines from the spare room - piles of them that had not seen the light of day in decades - and she came across sheet music for Frank Sinatra. My parents never liked Frank Sinatra. It was the only piece of music in the pile. The song was one neither of us had ever heard, "Softly as I Leave You." I found it online and played it for us. We sobbed. It was so moving and truly had to have been the Holy Spirit who put it there for us to find on that particular evening. I am a statistician. There are no coincidences. The odds are against it.

It has been several months since my father passed and we are still clearing out things he left behind. It has been a physically demanding experience gathering these items and getting them out of the house. With each armful, I have to wonder...was it worth it to buy all these things in the first place? Sure, they brought joy in the moment, but now they are entering a landfill or cluttering up someone else's house. I think of all the items I own and wonder if they are worth keeping. If I die today, they will likely end up in a landfill or on the shelf at the thrift store, ready to collect dust elsewhere. Do I need all these things? Do I even want them anymore? Surely I don't want to eliminate everything I have, but what is my priority? I value spending time with people I love, exploring interesting places, sharing conversations and laughter. The tchotchkes on my shelf? No comparison.

Lord, help me to understand the true meaning of life. Help me embrace the present moment and to not be distracted by material things that won't last. Jesus, you came so that I might have life abundantly. Help me not to settle for less. Amen.

Bench overlooking a lake. Perfect spot for contemplation.