Turn Your Pockets Out

Ministerial Meandering

Turn your pockets out

I don’t know if you’ve ever had the ignominy of having your baggage searched at an airport.  It is both embarrassing and rather humiliating.  And it’s happened to me more than once in various countries.  One only hopes that the person, rummaging through your suitcase with glee and a supercilious sneer, speaks English, so that you can explain that the frilly, baby-doll nightie, and fluffy rabbit ears are for your daughter, (niece, or whatever,) - and you really don’t wear them yourself.

Then you downsize to having to empty your pockets, which was - on one occasion - extremely stressful for me when I was about 16 and coming back through English customs, having spent the summer on a farm in France.

I was wearing a raincoat and took it off to access the pockets of my jeans; unknown to the customs officers, there were 4 packets of Gauloises cigarettes in the pockets of my raincoat - which they didn’t search.  That discovery would have put me 80 fags over the limit of my 200 allowance.  Yes, back in the day, I did smoke - and rather like the way I like my coffee - the darker and stronger the tobacco, the better.  So I smoked non-filtered, full-strength Gauloises, in the blue soft packet.  (Actually, they hadn’t started marketing the low-nicotine variety at that stage.)

So just the usual things tumbled out of my pockets - chewing gum, handkerchief, penknife, bottle-opener, elastic band, optimistic condom, and a few francs.  Nothing really unusual for a healthy 16-year old.  My back pockets had little more; passport, and a small wallet with a picture of my current girlfriend (who was not interested in the use of my hopeful condom).

As I travelled through life, I find my pocket contents have changed, although I have rarely sat down to think about it until now.  Now, if you asked me to turn out my pockets, I could show you a slightly different focus on life.

Now I have tissues (handkerchiefs are obsolete!), a decent sized pocket knife with a lock blade, a tiny pocket penknife that has a small pair of scissors on it, and carries a much-used toothpick, two elastic bands (joined together for killing flies), a dog-whistle, a pen that doesn’t leak, my driver’s license, a credit card, a knife sharpener (there’s nothing worse than a blunt knife), some lip salve, specs cleaner - and occasionally, an optimistic golf tee.

Despite this sad but eclectic collection of what I carry in my pockets, I find that what I carry in my heart and mind is far more important to me now than formerly.

When our girls were small, each of them surprised me by their ability to put into words deep feelings at a very young age, and express themselves on paper with a maturity beyond their years.

Ruth wrote a piece about a Magic Box - and what she would put in it if she had one; Hannah wrote a poem about ‘Time’ when I was doing my ordination training, and never seemed to have time for them.

Each piece stunned me with its depth of feeling and emotional content, which they were able to put onto paper at such a tender age.

So - if I may be allowed to reach into the richness of my children’s skills, I would say that now the pockets of my heart and mind contain the things that give me joy.  Sometimes they are without number, but on rainy days they are my closest people, Gracie, music, and my relationship with God, who, in the form of Jesus, the Risen Christ, leads, inspires, and loves me - without limit.

Philip+