My artifacts tend to be those for nostalgic purposes, and
those that help me be excited for my future. I have a little rectangular bowl
that my mother used when she gave us her homemade Christmas Chex Mix. I keep
office supplies in the bowl now, sitting on my desk like it has every right to
belong there. It reminds me of my mother’s warm love on an icy December
afternoon. Another nostalgic piece is the wooden toolbox I built on my
grandparents’ porch when I was about 11. Now it is responsible for keeping lotion
and body spray in one place. I particularly admire it because it is an artifact
that I made, and craftsmanship is admired in my family. Other artifacts that
are nostalgic come from other people: a ceramic sheep from my seven-year-old
sister, a shard from a Tiffany lamp that my high school teacher and mentor let
me have after a student broke the shade, and a hand-carved bird from another
high school teacher.
The
artifacts that keep me going through life are usually more of the hand-written
sort. I have posters, handouts, landscape pictures, magazine clippings, and
self-written notes all over my part of the room and around my desk area. They
inspire me to keep going with my college education and with my relationship
with Christ—the two most important things in my life right now. On my desk,
right by laptop monitor, “Carpe Diem”, and a quote from one of my favorite
bands, August Burns Red, reads, “I’ve thrown away all my outside distractions.
I’m diving headfirst to chase a dream that I won’t let go.” Then I listed a few
of the things that constantly distract me from doing my homework. By my closet
and mirror, I keep a post-it that reads, “When you look in the mirror, do you
see yourself, or Jesus?” A fishing tackle box holds my make-up (which proves that
perhaps I am a little eclectic and get creative on a budget), and inside, I
keep an index card with the words of Peter: “Your beauty should not come from
outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and
fine clothes. Instead, it should be the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet
spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight” (1Peter 3:3-4). These kinds of things are everywhere.
I also love landscapes—anything to
help me remember the world outside of Berea. Van Gogh paintings of the sea and
an afternoon picnic come from an old calendar. I keep a night skyline of New
York on the wall, and a vintage photo of Times Square framed above my desk. I
love flowers, and have many pseudo-botanical artifacts brightening my room in
vases.
To be outright in answering the
questions, I feel at home with my artifacts, because they remind me of the
people I love—the very people that have pushed me to succeed since they met me.
I find my identity in my vintage, eclectic style, and in keeping the word of
the Lord around my home and even posted on my door for all to see (Sharpie
scrawled on a piece of cardboard claiming that, “JESUS WAS HOMELESS”). If my things disappeared, I would
probably mourn for the nostalgic pieces, but only for a while. I am actually
trying to wrap my head around Jesus’ words in Mark 10: 21: “Go, sell everything
you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come,
follow me.” It’s a really radical idea that I couldn’t say that most Christians
follow, but I am learning to let go of the American Dream of house, marriage,
kids, job, etc. I iterate all of this to say that perhaps one day, the lack of
many artifacts will be my identity, and nonverbally communicate that I’m
serious about my identity in Christ.
