So, a little while back, I shared a kind of funny 'Note' about junking
on my personal Facebook profile.
It got a lot of laughs and nods of agreement from my friends & family
{well, at least those who 'got' it.} ;0)
One of them just told me that I should share it here...
so, at the risk of possibly being misunderstood, I've decided to share it.
With a disclaimer: This is all in fun, people. No offense intended.
________________________________________
Above: a Temple of Junk.
Yes, my brethren, the time has come again for us
to gather together in the Church of Junk!
To set aside the week's end to seeking that which we serve: Junk.
To don the raiment of worship, dressing in our finest fleece, stained jeans, sweatshirts, mud boots, and barn coats. To crown ourselves with the ‘official’ junkers baseball cap headwear or Original Junk Queen Crowns, fingerless gloves, and seven pairs of wool socks.
To travel from near and far on our journey, making the holy pilgrimage from our homes to the lands of plenty, braving weeds, mud, rocks, and endless parking lots in heat, rain, freezing fog, and darkness in the wee hours of morning. To enter the cold, hallowed temples of weathered barns, concrete warehouses, vinyl tents, and dusty garages with fear, trepidation, and flashlights.
To clasp our hands in prayer hoping for the one thing we are seeking, supplicating the junking gods to be on our shoulder directing us. And around hot steaming mugs {or thermal Junk Queen cups!} of coffee to warm them.
To go forth and raise our voices in worship, shouting hellos trading jibes with other worshipers, as we wait in an endless line for the gates to swing open in the morning. To end the day whistling and humming with joy as we wheel our filled wire carts, wagons, wheelbarrows, and flat carts heaped with treasure out to our trucks and vans stuffed with... more junk.
To rise up and lift our hands in praise to the almighty one who holds the power of accepting our best price bid on that item they didn’t even know they had, which we discovered hidden deep in a broken box under a table heaped with dirty old things.
To stomp our feet with frustration when we lose out on the one thing we really wanted, {“oh you JUST missed it!” are the worst words in the English language} and dance in the aisles when we outrace competitors to the deal of the day.
To collapse at last in a heap, exhausted and spent, pockets empty, bones weary, sides aching from laughing all day. To share our testimonies with others who know that of which we speak. To partake in the communion of wine and bread together at day's end, as a symbol of the collaboration and cooperation we strive for.
To share the thrill, the adventure, the excitement of the search with thousands of others who are drawn to this venture of buying and selling antiques & junk – which can only be accomplished with an immeasurable amount of faith. Faith in the endless supply, faith in the hunt, faith in the truly good people in this amazing industry, and faith in the everlasting life of old metal.
Halleluiah - Barn Show season is here!
Let us pray.
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This is my own original composition.
Please do not copy and repost, or use any part of it.
If you want to LINK to it, that's ok.
And if you wanna' complain to me about this being 'blasphemous',
Just save it. I warned you and you kept reading. ;0)
-Deb
