Seashells and dead butterflies

I think I made mention of my homeschooling past in an earlier post. Beware, this post is even scarier.

When I come home, the relics of this past haunt me. I went into what my mom calls "The Little Room" -- where she keeps my old wicker furniture, stuffed animals, Boxcar Children books and American girl dolls. Everything in there really is little -- and somehow reminds me of Alice in Wonderland.

Yesterday I went into The Little Room to put something into storage, and I discovered (or rediscovered) yet another trophy of my homeschool days: two drawers stuffed full of seashells, some of them even neatly stacked on top of one another -- biggest on the bottom, smallest on top. Are you kidding me? Where did all these sea shells come from? And why has my mom tolerated it all these years?

Then I began to recall the various things I used to collect, and the list forming in my head began to weigh heavy on my spirit: Pencils. Stamps. Stickers. Rocks, for which I even had my grandfather build a customized box. Pretty paper. Dead butterflies. Book marks. Anything shiny. Ribbons. Glass bottles. Beads. Leaves. Little tea sets, little cars, or anything that was cute and little. And last but not least, seashells.

Sometimes my poor mom, overwhelmed with the clutter, would kindly suggest that I go through my stuff and decide what I might like to throw away. To me, that was like asking me to give up my life's work.

What was the obsession? Why would I have "rescued" an expired butterfly and gently placed it in a jewelry box (other than to give it a proper burial, I suppose)? Why did I enjoy taking the handles off J.C. Penny paper bags and tying them around glass bottles? What was with the seashell Tower of Babel?

Even last night I was faced with a freakishly strong desire to keep the ribbons that held together a discount down blanket I had just bought at a department store. I spent 10 minutes trying to decide what I could do with them, battling the practical side of me that was saying, "Throw them away, throw them away!"

The only answer I can begin to give myself is that by nature I am a sub-creator. Though nowadays the practical side of me is more likely to kick in, I used to enjoy taking what was already out there in nature, categorizing it, giving it purpose, and sometimes combining two things to make something "new." Sometimes it was disastrous, and sometimes it was actually kind of cool. Now it's a little scary, but who knows what impact it made on the way I think about the world around me. Perhaps I have a better appreciation for the way God created order out of nothing, and will one day restore order to the chaos around us. He has promised to make everything new and right.

What did you collect as a kid, and why did you do it? What lessons can you learn from your strange past?