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Jotting Judi

Posted by: tdt -

Sorting out the chaff

It is time for wheat harvest.  The “amber waves of grain” sway stately in the field waiting for the farmer to glean their treasured heads.  As the combine makes its way down the field, the hopper glistens with the fruit of the labor while the chaff is discarded and blown in the wind. Webster describes chaff as worthless matter.  

Worthless matter!  Our lives are like that; all cluttered up with “chaff” that places us on overload.

 It is well past a year since we made the move to Dalhart.  It seems like every corner of the house is filled, and yet there are still many boxes that have not been unpacked.  Every now and then I think about an item I can’t find and nearly put myself “over the edge” wondering which box it is in.  

Sorting through boxes of “chaff” can be time consuming and drudgery. At times I think, “I haven’t missed anything in this box or needed it in over a year. Maybe I should give away the whole box and not even open it.” But curiosity gets the best of me and I dig in. That’s when I find a true treasure like my autographed 1955 Detroit Tigers Baseball.  Holding the ball in my hand I can remember the excitement as a young girl going to the game. I could actually hear the cheering; smell the hot dogs and popcorn.  I remember that my uncle must have had “clout” because of where our seats were located.

My wandering mind was drawn to a book I just read. (I acquired it for $.25 on the Trail of Sales!)  Thelma Wells describes a time when her granddaddy took her to the Majestic Theater in downtown Dallas.  She relates, “Because we were black, we had to sit in the buzzard roost, but still I loved to go.”  I wept. I ached for her as a child being treated as “chaff.”  I prayed and asked God to forgive us for treating others as “worthless matter.”

My mind went every direction sitting on the porch that day digging through boxes.  I managed to “sort out some chaff,” and “glean” some rich “heads of grain.”  I placed in neat piles the “keepers and fixer-uppers.”  Nearby, a large trash can brimmed over with the chaff.  (Never mind the perplexed look on my husband’s face when he saw the fixer-uppers!)

My load is lighter.  My heart is fuller.  It is impossible to sort through “stuff” and not come out “stuffed.”  Memories, good and sad, are part of the process.  I do wonder if my children will agree with the “keeper” items.  I can hear them now “Why did Mom keep all this junk!  Oh well, I guess it is all in the eye of the beholder.  On to more boxes!