This season of giving to others makes me want to search for thrifted treasures for me. It’s pretty self-serving, if you get right down to it, and I wish we Americans shared England’s altruistic term, charity shops, for those delightful stores where I find all the used stuff.
This thrifting for ME in a season for OTHERS defeats the holiday spirit, and maybe therein lies my 2018 lesson. (Remember the second-hand lamp? If you missed the drama then, click HERE now to enjoy it.)
Two weeks ago, I swiped a discerning gaze through my local thrift stores. A breathless assessment of their inventory on a Tuesday morning during my workday showed me I had picked the right day. So much art, so little time.
As an employment consultant, I’m required to do weekly job development. My clever supervisor once shared with me her techniques for conducting the task, even while running errands: simply ask job-related questions of the managers or employees while shopping, and done; it counts for the spreadsheet. And who knows? A job for one of our clients could result from our efforts, she said.
That Tuesday at Savers, I scooped up a 2 x 3-foot oil-painted landscape, a three-dimensional Jesus Walking on Water picture, two paintings of roses by Dianne Harter, a rosemåling plaque, a modern man-body done in acrylic on canvas, and a piece that looked like an ethereal scarf caught under glass. I edged toward a manager moving about on the sales floor.
“So, I’m curious about what it’s like to work here,” I said, noting the blue glass vase in the woman’s hand. She placed it on a shelf and smiled.
We chatted. I wove in questions about their hiring practices, seven-year background checks, the application and interviewing process, and oh, was there drug testing? I finally revealed my identity as an employment consultant and thanked her for the information. She said things like if I had more questions, I could reach out, and other things like I should send my people her way, and she'd be happy to talk with them. I made a mental note, but it was hard to hear her over the thoughts about the artwork in my cart and where it should live in my house.
I paid and lugged my new treasures out to the truck.
“Whatcha got there?” Husband-on-the-couch said when I got home. TV voices in the background debated a criminal case.
“Nothing of concern,” I said sweetly, waving a hand. “The total was like $60, so…”
“Hmm,” he said, more interested in the fictional court hearing anyway.
I arranged my new things just so, and two revelations hit me:
1. It is the glory of God to conceal a matter and the honor of kings to search it out. (Maybe God is into treasure hunts as much as we are.)
2. The chartreuse walls in the bathroom where I hung the rose paintings now call for a pink rug. (I’ll check the thrift stores tomorrow.)
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