Jacob Glassner

When I was little, I had a favorite stuffed animal named Pido. I carried that fluffy white dog with me everywhere. His name was supposed to be Fido, but I couldn’t quite say that, so everyone in the family adopted my mispronunciation of his name. Years later, I also found out that Pido was in fact a polar bear. None of those little details mattered to me back then.

Pido and I were best friends, and I’m sure I dragged him with me on many adventures. I don’t really remember any of those adventures, but I’ve seen Polaroids of us together.

Uncle Ray—God rest his soul—the inveterate bargain shopper/hoarder, gave me Pido. He probably came out of a bargain bin at Zayre or Kmart, but Pido’s humble pedigree (he most likely was born in a factory in Taiwan) didn’t matter to me. I quickly adopted him.

But the rough-and-tumble life of a 3-year-old wasn’t kind to Pido, and his fur soon began to fall out in clumps. Pido’s condition upset me, so my older brother and sister offered to help.

The diagnosis? Pido was suffering from stuffed animal pattern baldness. The treatment? Intensive fur replacement surgery, or in layman’s terms, cotton balls and Elmer’s glue. I agreed to the procedure because my siblings were much older and wiser than me. They knew how to use scissors.

Dr. Jill and Dr. Brian began operating on Pido on the dusty floor of our front porch. I was concerned, but Dr. Brian, the cocky rookie surgeon, assured me as he twisted open a crusty bottle of glue: “He’ll be good as new when we’re done!”

I nervously paced around the front porch as the surgeons globbed glue and cotton balls on Pido’s body. Pido came out of surgery looking worse than ever—a wet, gooey mess—and I burst into tears. Hearing the cries, my mom intervened. She comforted me and told me he’d look better once the glue dried. “I’ll put him somewhere up high until he dries,” she said.

That was the last time I saw Pido.

As children tend to do, I forgot about Pido shortly after his surgery. I asked about him from time to time, but when I finally was told he had to be thrown away, I was over my grief. I can only assume he met his end in a landfill or an incinerator.

Pido was my prized possession, but through the years, I found other prized possessions—my G.I. Joe hovercraft, my Fender guitar, my red 1997 Ford Escort—that also came and went. Some simply fell out of favor and were forgotten, while others were destroyed by a lady who ran a red light in her minivan (I’m still a little bitter about the loss of my Escort).

King Solomon had power, fame and great wealth, but at the end of his life, he said this: “Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun” (Ecclesiastes 2:11).

Even though I know the things of this earth are temporary, I still have the temptation to cling to them. Matthew 6 tells us to store up treasures in heaven, not on earth, but the truth is, stuff makes us feel good. It could be a house, a car, a family heirloom or a designer purse. Or maybe it’s a job or a bank account. Stuff can comfort us and make us feel safe. But it’s just stuff. It won’t bring us true happiness, and it all can be taken away in an instant.

Jesus told the parable of the rich fool.

“‘The ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. He thought to himself, “What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.” Then he said, “This is what I’ll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain. And I’ll say to myself, ‘You have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry.’” But God said to him, “You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?” This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God’” (Luke 12:16-21).

I’ve always admired Job. After losing all he had, he said, “‘Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; may the name of the Lord be praised’” (Job 1:21).

It’s tough to imagine praising God after losing your home, your family and all your possessions, but praise is the response of a heart that is sold out to God and not attached to the things of this world.

The classic film “Citizen Kane” opens with the lead character, Charles Foster Kane, looking at a snow globe and whispering the word “Rosebud” as he breathes his last and drops the globe to the floor. At the end of the movie, we find out that Rosebud was the name of his favorite sled he lost when he was taken away from his parents as a child. Kane had power and a vast fortune, but he longed for a treasure from his childhood.

I’m still a work in progress, but at the end of my life, you won’t find me staring at a snow globe and whispering “Pido” or “Escort” or even “home equity.” I want to die with my Savior’s name on my lips.