Ever since my son David was old enough to reach out and grab, he's shown me how wrong I
can be about what's a treasure and what's truly useless in the hands of God.
David has always kept both his hands full to capacity. He's learned to carry more items
in each hand than my grandmother could stuff in her purse.
What's fascinated me most about David is which toys he chooses for his treasures. Like
a pirate who finds himself in a panic because he's got no chest in which to dump the loot,
David quickly deduces which toys can be left in the pile on his bedroom floor and which
must -- absolutely must -- be taken along on the two-minute car ride to the grocery store.
When David was three, I thought he had a wooden peg glued to his fingers. I couldn't
fathom any value in that peg except for its intended use in the cobbler's bench. I never
saw David hammer that peg into its hole, but it went wherever David went.
When he was four, I thought we'd found the "X" that marks the jackpot of all
treasure caches when we stumbled upon a clearance table in a local store's toy department.
I told David he could buy any toy priced under $2. With as much self-importance as a
tot could muster, he began rummaging and examining. He chose a scratched-up, much-abused,
hand-size pinball game. The key word here is "hand-size." Forget the word
"usable." It wasn't worth the asking price of 25 cents.
I suggested other toys in better shape. He looked at me with exasperation. Couldn't I
get it through my ancient brain that this pinball game was the only treasure on the table?
I bought it. Of course, "wiser mothers" buy nothing but the newest and the
best -- at least something that works. But my son's delight in clutching this beat-up game
clouded my thinking.
It turned out to be a genuine treasure. David took it everywhere -- to bed, to the
dinner table, to the bathroom. In the same hand he also carried a baby rattle he had
recently found in some forgotten cranny of the house. That rattle had bored him when he
was supposed to enjoy it. Now that it was old and useless, it became one of his treasures.
The rattle reminded me of a few people I know in nursing homes. It's easy to see them
as old and useless. But they are some of God's favorite treasures.
I guess no one and nothing is useless in the hands of God -- except maybe my
"wiser-mother" judgement about toy shopping. On the other hand, He used even
that, didn't He?
