By Marianne Wood

The word “reducing” makes me grin. It conjures up a machine that women in the 1950s and 60s used to jiggle their buttocks and arms in order to get rid of fat. My grandmother had access to one in her Dallas condo building. That is where I first encountered this slimming contraption that had a strap attached to a small motor. Just slip the band around your hips, and presto, you’d have a slimmer you in no time. A neighbor from early marriage days liked to use “reducing” to describe what women hoped to gain from that passive exercise and other efforts. I can’t stand it, I’m grinning again. But reducing also describes a short season that has just ended in my household.

Over the holidays, my husband, Larry, and I  took a break. One might even call it a fast. For ten days, we did less. We attended fewer events, cut back on volunteering, and skipped church. We took time to lament, grieve, count our many blessings, and reduce our collections. The goal was to arrive at the end of ten days with lighter hearts. We did. 

Toward the conclusion of our respite, we reviewed descriptions of disappointments, bereavements, and such that were jotted on bits and bobs of paper, saying prayers of thanksgiving for God’s graciousness in bringing us closure and closer through this process. Alongside this activity, I cleaned out my office closet, our pantry, and a jewelry box. 

The sublime and the mundane swung like a pendulum, setting a sort of rhythm to our days.

And it helped to simply be. Be with my husband and our pup, sitting in the sun or walking in our neighborhood, resting and regrouping. 

Reviewing the objects I found in my collections and tossing out the ones that spark no meaningful memories furnished another kind of rest. Not the pantry items so much because who really needs that many kinds of noodles? My pantry proclaims excess and good fortune. And my office closet speaks volumes about my career. Examples of projects, binders full of teaching materials, and paintings fill the shelves. I had intended to reduce the contents by one-third. I think one-sixteenth may be the outcome. Still, it is now a room one can move around in more easily. And the tiny treasures from the jewelry box that I have chosen to keep, I will wear or look at fondly until, on the next occasion, I have reason to curate what means most. With Jesus’s warning about the harm that can come from hoarding in mind, it is easier to let go of many things.

Once I had reduced my personal collections, I got to thinking about material culture in a broader sense. The objects, buildings, and such that a society chooses to save and display tell us a lot about that culture. Archaeologists, anthropologists, and historians, too, find the everyday objects of ancient to modern civilizations fascinating. Evidently, ordinary folk like me do, too. A recent statistic records nearly 900 million museum visits last year. Perhaps you are one of the many who discovered something new about baseball, rock and roll, art history, Native Americans, dinosaurs, or some such thing in a great museum along your path. We like going to see stuff. Why? Because stuff tells us stories, and we learn more about others as well as ourselves by viewing the objects that give us context for a greater narrative.

The soft pink curler I retained looks kind of ridiculous jumbled beside the Reagan campaign button, a round yellow barrette, my first watch, and a tiny felt tennis racket, but each item sends me back to a memory I want to enjoy for the rest of my life. Photos do this better, you might argue, but items like these serve as touchstones. What I touched as a young girl or a new mother provides neural pathways to memories that inform my present, reminding me of what I valued then and helping me choose what to value now.

And trips to museums to see what others, perhaps even my own townspeople, valued a century ago, help me see what needs valuing today.

The cars at a local thrift dealer were lined up five deep shortly after Christmas. And a nearby store featured a full parking lot. We, too, visited both. Out with the old! In with the new! Lord, help us choose what to treasure most, that which truly lasts.

Marianne Wood enjoys writing, painting, and teaching art