Let's Go: A country auction.

 Have you been to an auction before?

Like the kind waaaaay out in the country? 

 I remember the first time I encountered my first country auction.

Brett and I were dating and he'd invited me to go see what one was like. 

At first the whole ordeal just seemed rather silly! 

A fast-talking, jibberish-uttering man and people holding up numbers to bid on things? Do people really do this kind of stuff?  The answer is yes, and since then my eyes have realized there's more to a country auction than just the stuff.

 There's almost always family involved, whether that means meeting your own family for the morning to attend the auction, or getting to know a bit of the family's story whose goods and wares are being auctioned off.  I admit-auctions always seem a bit bittersweet to me. 

I know the verse about not storing up treasures in heaven and I full-heartedly agree.

But-the material things here on earth represent a story sometimes.....

 Looking at all the items at this beautiful country home I couldn't help but wonder what story they had to tell. 

Did two lovebirds sit on this bench, and later mama with her sweet children?  Who knows the comforts and aches and pains it rocked away, back and forth......steady as could be when steady was missing elsewhere.

 What pies and food did this hold,

and was it made in celebration, comfort, or mourning?

Did the flour blow off the counter in big puffs and whisps of white, leaving traces in the country gal's hair baking the pie?

Did the crust get pounded and rolled thin on the hard days?  What secrets were tucked away in these pies and are there remnants left in this safe?

Perhaps this pie safe was safe for many reasons...

other than for just keeping the pies stored.

 And oh, this barn! 

What animals and farm equipment were housed here?
How many hours were spent praying, while repairing one tool or another?
Did the hay smell sweet,
was the light golden here, even on the darkest of days?

Who gathered on this porch?  

I can picture mama's and papa's, babies and children.  

Teenagers slamming the door and plopping on the front porch,

feeling the strong, gusty wind blow across their face 

and cooling a potentially hot temper. 

I can see hands being held,

hugs being embraced,

deep breaths on the weariest of days.

Did the wildflowers catch someone's eye years ago,

just like they do mine?

Perhaps a fellow daydreamer visited this same spot,

wondering how to accomplish dreams as big as the blue sky above.

I can only imagine the conversations, scuffles, looks, gazes, arguments, hard times, celebrations, and life that was lived here.

A bid here, a bid there.  A plate sold, a vessel for memories handed from one story-teller to another.   For while we don't store our treasures on earth for eternity,
our treasures help tell the story of the path to eternity.