I collect stuff. Left unchecked, I could be one of those people who has things stacked and piled in every space available — living in paths between. I’ve given myself guidelines about what I can haul home from various travels in an attempt to keep the clutter manageable. I think mostly that’s worked.
I do collect coins. Not as in “put them in books” and “seek out certain coins of value” collecting — rather, it’s more “bring back coins from everywhere you go or from anyone who will bring them from other places” kind of collecting.
I also collect rocks. Ones I like. The three on my desk at the office right now (in the photo) are from my recent trip to Siberia — from Lake Baikal. I really like these rocks. I really like most rocks. Well, except for the ones that sneak into my shoes and the ones you have to constantly dodge when walking along walkways in certain cities beginning with the letter U.
Some of these rocks and coins serve to help me remember places and people — and to help me remember things that God has done. Inside my head, at least, this stuff is connected to story.