PHOTO: Jennifer Holt While in Pittsburgh visiting the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, I enjoyed the exhibit, “Read My Pins,” a display of over 200 of Madeleine Albright’s collection of pins and photographs of her wearing them as she conferred with world leaders. Ms. Albright, it seems, used the pins to alert those she met to her mood, purpose, or hope. It began after Saddam Hussein’s government controlled media called her an “unparalleled serpent” after she criticized the leader. The next time she met with him, she wore a snake pin, a symbol of new life, though I doubt that was the message she was sending.
She mixed whimsy with pointed commentary, wearing pins of everything from flowers and dragonflies to wasps and American eagles. She wore a large zebra pin that lay across her shoulder when she met with Nelson Mandela, in honor of his homeland, and a trio of “see no evil, here not evil, speak no evil” when she conferred with Putin, who took offense.
The use of jewelry for more than the sparkle it adds to one’s attire is not reserved to Madeleine Albright, though she may have raised it to a new level. Engagement and wedding rings give testament to marriage. High school or college class rings declare an allegiance to a particular time in one’s life and a particular place of learning. Hardly “jewelry,” the rash of colored plastic bracelets proclaim everything from one’s faith to one’s favorite causes to all who notice.
I have often worn jewelry to remind me of people, places, and relationships. They have become what Catholics call “sacramentals,” things that remind us of God and help us to experience that Holy Presence with us.
I wear my mother’s class ring that my father wore while he was overseas during WWII when I want to remember their love for one another and for me, or when I feel particularly in need of their faith in me and their support. Mom gave me her engagement ring before she died, and I wear it now remembering both my father who gave it to her on her dinner place surrounded by family, and my mother who wore the gift from the love of her life. My parents were my first “sacramental,” sharing God’s love and presence in my life. As I grew they continued to be the source of much grace. If God loved me the way they did, well, I was in good shape!
I wear jewelry from places I have visited. Those pieces remind me of the diversity of the people of God. From the Buddhists of Thailand to the monks of Minnesota, they are all children of one God and have blessed my life in countless ways. The beauty of creation around the world comes to mind when I wear an opal one daughter brought home to me from Australia or the traditional silver earrings from Sardinia. Of course, wearing gifts from others also makes me aware of the important place they hold in my life and the grace they bring to it.
Most of my small collection are pieces that carry meaning beyond their appearance. This is true of the latest addition purchased when I recently visited a friend in Yellow Springs, OH, sometimes called the city still lost in the 60’s. It is a delightfully “hippie” town, home to Antioch College and Ha Ha Pizza where one can enjoy the fare with whole wheat crust and organically grown toppings. I could not resist taking home one of their pizzas for dinner, and while they were making it, I walked up the street to explore some of the shops.
The proprietors of a small used bookstore, “Dark Star,” met me with smiles and knew immediately of books by my newest favorite mystery author.
“We’re big mystery fans ourselves. I think we have four of those in paperback.” They did, and I bought them all. We exchanged pleasantries, and I poked around a bit before heading to my next destination. As I walked up the street, I heard a man playing a congo drum. He was sitting in front of a small mom and pop grocery store playing away with mittened hands. The locals seemed to know him and chatted with him as they walked by. I looked over and smiled at him and then entered a small jewelry story, “Ohio Silver.”
I had been there before and, as always, enjoyed peering in their display cases and looking at earrings made from Ming Dynasty porcelain shards wrapped with sterling silver to hang on chains or from your ears. I found the case that held polished fossils and then, I saw what I could not resist: dangly earrings made from a meteorite that impacted the earth in Japan.
They were the only pair she had. I tried them on and thought about it. Here was something that had hurtled through space hanging from my ears. They looked good. Rubbed to a gentle shine, they were angular and irregular and beautiful.
“I’ll take these.”
She placed them in a purple box along with the card that told where the meteorite had been found and secured the lid with a stretchy silver cord. I placed the box in the bag of used books and walked back to Ha Ha Pizza.
“This is the most expensive pizza I’ve ever had.”
The baker smiled. “Where d’ya stop?”
I told him about the bookstore and my new earrings.
“Cool,” he said.
That night I shared the pizza with my sister and her husband and wore the bit of space rock on my ears.
Now, when I want to remember that I am but a small part of an infinitely large story, I wear them. When I want to be reminded of the wonder of creation and the One who put it in motion, I wear them. When I feel like celebrating life and its mysteries, reverencing what I cannot understand but what pours grace upon me, I wear them.
I don’t have the the amazing collection of pins that Madeleine Albright shares with us in her exhibit and book by the same name, but I have my own collection of sacramentals that speak to my heart.
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