Hunting for Treasure

The other day I went on one of my favorite pastimes: Hunting for hidden treasures in others’ garages. I guess I should appease my fellow Guatemalans and explain: No, I haven’t gone down the deep end and turned into a thief. I said “hidden” not “forbidden” treasure. I don’t tip-toe into people’s properties with a black mask, a large bag and a flashlight, at the wee hours of the night. The economy isn’t that bad.

What I’m referring to is the fine art of garage saling.

To those of you unfamiliar with the joys, allow me to explain that garage saling simply consists of purchasing gently used – and sometimes even new – items people no longer want or need, which are displayed for sale in their garages or front lawns.

The serious garage salers (like my mom) get up at the crack of dawn and, with a hot cup of coffee and lots of change in their pockets, eagerly scan the classified column of their Friday and Saturday local newspapers and skillfully map out their route before setting out on their adventures. Others simply drive around different neighborhoods (the ritzier the better, with lots of impulse buyers eager to rid their overstuffed closets of “junk”) looking for the bright-colored signs with an arrow that marks the way and the two little words that make their hearts gallop with anticipation: “Garage Sale”.

Antique dealers with a trained eye for valuables, conscientious moms with large families to clothe, contractors looking for tools, newly-weds in need of furniture, and shopaholics – all kinds of people cruise around town looking for deals.

Last Saturday, as I set out on my own expedition, I came across a familiar object – an elegant crystal candleholder supported on three curved bronze legs. I had to chuckle, since years ago, I had gone through great lengths to get one exactly like that.

My neighbor had started a new business selling candles and had asked me to host a party for her. I wasn’t too keen on the idea, but when she showed me the product catalog, I fell in love with this crystal candleholder. So beautiful, and it would compliment my then bare coffee table perfectly. I had to have it.

Having recently moved to Arizona, I knew few people, but I unashamedly invited them to my party, bribing them with the promise of tasty snacks and free babysitting. For a week, I bit my lower lip often and prayed somebody would show up. I deep-cleaned my house. Thank God, they showed up. They heard my neighbor’s presentation. They shopped. They ate. They left. I cleaned house again. I was exhausted.

But I got my candleholder for half price, “only” 25 bucks. Mission accomplished.

I couldn’t wait for the postman to come knocking on my door, heralding the arrival of my precious package! When the happy day came, I opened the box with a flurry of excitement, but – oh, no! There must have been a mistake! The picture on the catalog showed a much bigger candleholder – one that would beautifully cover the better half of my coffee table. But what I held in my trembling hands would barely cover a fourth of an end table!

Back at the garage sale, as I stood in front of the items scattered around the driveway, I shook my head looking at the very same crystal item I once coveted; the one I had worked so hard to get; the one I paid way more than I usually would’ve; the one that now sits almost forgotten on a bookshelf. And I wondered about the many things – like this candleholder – to which I have devoted so much of my time and energy, only to get meager returns.

Jesus warned his disciples, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21, NIV)

Where my treasure is, there my heart will be… Perhaps this is a good time I take a good look at my heart and take inventory of what treasure-seeking endeavors I’m investing my resources into. Perhaps it’s time I start hunting for the type of treasure that beats the greatest garage sale find ever, the kind that never disappoints, that never looses value and that can never be taken from me.

Dear friend, where is your treasure?

Extraordinarily Ordinary

Not everyone aspires for greatness, but everybody longs for significance.

This search for significance, to make sure my life counts for something that goes beyond my own little self, is perhaps one of my greatest concerns. It seems that every time I am about to hit the next decade, I get in a frenzy and become more and more preoccupied with the idea of not wanting to miss whatever that is I was born to do.

Since I come from a family of highly successful and well-accomplished people, I’ve always wrestled with an added – purely self-inflicted – pressure to do something great. “Ordinary” has never seemed good enough for me – at least when it comes to making a difference.

But a recent painful event in my life has drastically changed that mentality.

A few weeks ago I lost my dear Aunt Chaty. Aside from having the most beautiful eyes and a smile that brightened your day, my auntie was – according to this world’s standards – an ordinary person.

She lived a happy, yet simple life. She married a good man. She never owned a home and drove an ordinary vehicle. She didn’t earn a college degree and held an regular job until she became a homemaker.

As common as her life was, Chaty made my Uncle Mingo very happy; she raised two outstanding girls; she was there – really there – for my cousins, my siblings and me, and she managed to make a difference in dozens and dozens of marriages.

Despite living an ordinary life, my auntie accomplished extraordinary things with a few simple, yet rare qualities:

1) She was an amazing listener.
2) She really cared.
3) She prayed, believing that God would answer her prayers.
4) She was single-minded and dedicated herself, along with my uncle,
to help couples make their marriages the best they could be.

During her last days, dozens of couples filled the hospital hallway near Aunt Chaty’s room, “crying like babies,” as my mom put it, “as if it was their own mother who was about to dye.”

You see, precious Aunt Chaty meant the world to so many, and in her own extraordinarily ordinary ways, she changed the world around her.

How much more accomplished can anyone be?
It makes me think that, perhaps, the ordinary things I do could make a lasting difference too. I pray the do.

Welcome to My Own Little Blog!

After years talking about starting my own blog, I've finally decided it's time to dive in. My desire is to share about lessons learned, my crazy dreams, and a few thoughts on life's every day intricacies, from my own little corner of the world. Welcome!