Earthly possessions

I am a hoarder.

Not the kind that requires professional intervention or will get me on television or find me dead, squashed by a fallen pile of magazines, at least not yet.

Rather, a hoarder who cannot bear to part with trinkets from her past, a hoarder who has transported, and stored, and re- and unpacked bits and pieces throughout her life.

Here is something I have kept for over thirty years:

A commemorative medal, given to me and my teammates by the mayor of a Hungarian town. We ran an English Bible Camp there for a week or so in 1991, and there was a formal reception to welcome us. The town had the extraordinary name of Hódmezővásárhely and I am proud to this day that I can pronounce it almost correctly.

Here is something I have kept for over forty years:

A drop of North Sea Oil. Encased in a small block of plastic, it was a gift when I visited Sullom Voe oil terminal in Shetland when I was ten years old. I was part of my primary school’s “Top of the Form” team. With three classmates, I won a general knowledge contest against other local primary schools and represented Caithness in our regional final, against Orkney and Shetland. We spent three days in Shetland and the highlight of the trip for me was our host at Sullom Voe casually reaching into a freezer in the dining hall and handing me a choc ice. What largesse! By the way, we lost on a tie-breaker, and I think it was my mistake.

Here is something I have kept for close to fifty years:

A tiny, red-covered mini-Bible. Perhaps an inch by half an inch, it contains Bible verses in Spanish, and was part of my New Year gift one of the years we lived in Peru. I was maybe six or seven. That year my mum told me that money was tight and that I was not to expect too much for my New Year presents, and when I opened them – I think the other gift was a pack of felt-tip pens – I exclaimed, “What do you mean, I wasn’t to expect too much for New Year this year, this is great!” or something of that sort. Did I mean it, or did I just want to spare my parents’ feelings? Impossible to say now.

My explanation for this behaviour is that I have lived an extremely restless life. I have had 26 addresses in five countries, moving on average every two plus years throughout my life. Not much has stayed constant. The right things have: God’s faithfulness, my parents’ unwavering support, decades-long friendships. But there is little else that has. I think if I can schlepp around an artefact or two from various stages of my life, I am throwing some anchors overboard to connect me to the physical world and so prevent me from floating off into the ether, blown hither and yon, like thistledown.

One day, they will all have to go, but I am not quite ready say goodbye to them yet.

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