Burnt Edges

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, especially in the holiday season, about the need for newness.  We buy new things, get new stuff, enjoy new items and packages with newness topped by a bow or ribbon.  We love the new, especially at holidays.  New is what adds change to our life.  New is what makes the old mundane and boring.  I imagine what it would be like if the tables were turned and we were culturally raised to desire the old, the experienced, the used.  Imagine the car commercials where a 20-year-old vehicle with rust patches was in the driveway with the giant red bow.  A diamond wedding ring passed down through the generations rather than going to a store. 

What I am guilty of often forgetting is that while new is a good thing in many regards, I must remind myself that older means experienced.  Something that has been around a while has managed to be durable enough to last up to this point.  Something used has a beauty of its own, telling the world that it has a story to tell, that it has been places and seen things that others have not.  Like a treasure map with burnt, torn edges, it knows the way. 

While things that are not new may not always have the greatest curb appeal, they more often than not hold a place in our hearts because of their history.  They may not work as perfectly as the newest model, but we know their tilt because we've had a good run with them.  While a new thing may provide an opportunity, it cannot provide dependability. 

Now, amidst all this metaphor, I present this thought, which sparked this post:  Instead of thinking about objects when reading this entry, go back and imagine I'm really talking about people in your life.

During this time of newness and giving, I will do my best to remember and be thankful for the people with burnt edges in my life.

-a