Something Beautiful

I spent three weeks in Montana over my Christmas break. It was my first time there since August-since my family moved-and it was good. I got to hang out with mom and dad, Justin, Jared, Joy and Braden. I babysat some cute kids-Charlie, Carsyn, Decker, and Justyce. There was plenty of time for sleeping in and reading and exploring.

Exploring was my favorite.

I drove around to a few of the small towns in the area and saw what there was to see-not much. Southwestern Montana is pretty dead in the hunting off-season.

There was one spot, though, that I was so happy to have found. The shop was called Weaver’s Rug Gallery, and it was housed in a run-down building in the center of Twin Bridges, Montana. Weaver’s was rarely open; they kept no regular hours. At most times, one could drive by and see the letters of the sign hanging in the front window arranged to say “NOPE,” which must be Montana speak for closed. People in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana just do things differently, I guess. I won’t even get into the fact that the grocery store in town allowed my sometimes scattered-brained mom to go home with her groceries, and return later to pay with the wallet she’d forgotten on the first trip. That’s another story, for another time. Back to Weaver’s…

So, one day, when Joy and I were dropping off some packages at the post office, we noticed that the letters in the window at Weaver’s Rug Gallery had made the subtle and rare change from N-O-P-E to O-P-E-N, so we went to explore.

The place was old, dusty, and smelled a bit strange. There were rugs hanging all over the walls, hand-made jewelry dangling off of countertops, and a wide assortment of trinkets and treasures displayed on various surfaces. There was also a man with a distinctly Australian accent (awesome) standing behind a counter in the back. He said “G’day mates!” as we walked in. (Ok, that didn’t happen-but how great would that have been?) So we look around: Nothing of much interest. Most of the stuff was slightly overpriced and slightly too obscure for our tastes. But then, just as I was about to be disappointed and let down by this mysterious and seemingly awesome place, I saw it. I saw the barrel shoved into the front corner of the store, under the big picture window. I saw the barrel filled with buttons, and my eyes lit up. There were buttons of every shape, size, color, and texture…it was like a treasure chest, really.

To be honest, I’m not sure when I became such a fan of buttons. I would think that, after counting thousands of them last Christmas break while helping Uncle Kip and Aunt Jeanette with inventory at the fabric store, that I would loathe them. But not so my friends. There is something about the unique qualities of old buttons that I find utterly fascinating. There’s something so interesting about these little pieces of history. Most of all, I love that each and every button has a story, has a history, has a past.

The bag that I had filled with a vast assortment of buttons now laid crumpled on my floor, and my bounty was spread across the comforter on my bed. As I picked up each button to admire it’s unique beauty, I thought of the path that button might have taken to get to the barrel in which I found it. I thought about how these buttons had been cast off, discarded…thrown into the barrel. They were a little imperfect, a little bit ugly. Covered in stains, dents and rust.

I think I might be kind of like an old button. I’m kind of scarred and dirtied. I’ve seen better days. Like the buttons, I’ve been tossed aside, discarded.

But maybe someone can make something beautiful out of me.

Like those buttons that I found buried in the bottom of a barrel in the little rug shop in Montana, He’s found me here-exactly where I am.

I think God wants to make something beautiful out of me.