As I sorted it through I found a lot of good stuff. A lot. I also found pieces of broken tools, worn out saw blades, half finished little projects. I began to realize that I had purchased an important part of someone's life. I was looking at the bits and pieces of this man's passions. It was sobering, almost like I was invading his privacy. The things that he saved in little jars and empty tuna cans were like his secrets.
He was an engineer, and many of the things in his cache were of unknown function and purpose. It was all very orderly. He clearly was well organized for most his life. But the things on top were out of order. The things on his workbench were haphazardly pushed together in piles. I realized that in his later years he was failing. His passions became memories as he began to lose the ability to bend over his workbench.
This was borne out as I walked through the house on auction day. There was a chair lift on the staircase. So not only could he not enforce the order in his shop, he could no longer even go in it. His very body had abandoned its order. I suspect that there came a time where he couldn't even remember his passions. His creative spark got buried in his failing body.
I thought about my passions, now that I owned the instruments of his passions. I was young and I'm approaching old age. I will move on into eternity some day. What will be left behind in my shop? Will it be something of value, or folly? What have I invested my time in? What will I leave behind that has eternal worth?
These questions don't often cross the minds of younger men. They have their future, their strength, their ambitions. Their minds are likely elsewhere. Legacy is not a matter to consider in the vigor of youth. It is sometimes said that youth is wasted on the young, but to me that sounds like an old man talking.
He was an engineer, and many of the things in his cache were of unknown function and purpose. It was all very orderly. He clearly was well organized for most his life. But the things on top were out of order. The things on his workbench were haphazardly pushed together in piles. I realized that in his later years he was failing. His passions became memories as he began to lose the ability to bend over his workbench.
This was borne out as I walked through the house on auction day. There was a chair lift on the staircase. So not only could he not enforce the order in his shop, he could no longer even go in it. His very body had abandoned its order. I suspect that there came a time where he couldn't even remember his passions. His creative spark got buried in his failing body.
I thought about my passions, now that I owned the instruments of his passions. I was young and I'm approaching old age. I will move on into eternity some day. What will be left behind in my shop? Will it be something of value, or folly? What have I invested my time in? What will I leave behind that has eternal worth?
These questions don't often cross the minds of younger men. They have their future, their strength, their ambitions. Their minds are likely elsewhere. Legacy is not a matter to consider in the vigor of youth. It is sometimes said that youth is wasted on the young, but to me that sounds like an old man talking.
In my 63 year old body is the mind of a younger man, still possessing goals and plans. My mind doesn't really believe I'm not young anymore. My mind conceives of ambitions, it has a future. It makes promises my body can't keep.
This mind got confronted with the inevitable end of all men. Now, what am I going to do with this revelation?
Wow!! So many poignant reminders of what's really of worth, the fact that we are always leaning things behind, be it spiritual or material. I pray that the things I leave behind will add value to those who encounter it.
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