FIRST GLIMPSE: Hidden Treasure?

A driftwood fire crackled merrily, and the smoky smell of coffee wafted through the cool morning air. Easing back on my elbows in the powdery sand, I waited with a smile for the old, blackened coffee pot to finish perking. I yawned and stretched as I admired early morning clouds tinged with pink on the distant horizon.

After backpacking five miles through soft sand and scratchy underbrush the previous evening, my daughter and I discovered a pristine location near the end of the deserted Gulf island we set out to explore. Tucked into a hollow between two enormous sand dunes, we raised our small, worn tent against an enormous drift log. After scavenging firewood, we spent a fantastic evening roasting marshmallows and drinking hot chocolate. My last thought before drifting off to sleep was how much I enjoyed the sound of crashing waves on the shore. Perfect.

Eight hours later, as dawn slowly brightened to brilliant sunrise, I savored my coffee and simply relaxed as I waited for Sleepyhead to stir. Running my toes through the sand, I wondered for the umpteenth time how sand could be so soft.

“Ouch!” A sudden sharp pain between my toes put a damper on the otherwise idyllic morning. Reaching down, I pulled a short length of corroded chain from the sand. “Litterbugs!” I exclaimed with disgust, rubbing the small cut left between my toes. Shaking my head, I shoved the corroded metal into the side pocket of my hiking shorts to discard later. At that moment, a sleepy face surrounded by tousled blond locks poked from the tent door. “Do I smell coffee?”

We turned attention to breakfast, breaking camp, and retracing our route back down the island. Four hours later, we arrived at the parking area scratched, sunburned, sweaty, and ready for shade. We stowed our gear and, after a last glance at the scenery, prepared to head for civilization.

Remembering the refuse, I stepped over to the drab green trash bin. As I drew back my hand to toss in the chain, I froze. The hours of rubbing back and forth in my pocket had removed the corrosion and turned the links a soft, golden glow. The trash had become treasure! A trip to an antique dealer confirmed it. The buried chunk of corrosion was not only gold, but pure gold—scarred and worn but just as precious.

Jesus spoke clearly about treasure in His Sermon on the Mount. He taught followers one’s “treasure” says much about the condition of the heart. Obsession with the material, a lack of generosity, and misplaced confidence in wealth (Luke 12:27-34; Matthew 6:19-21) point to a heart divided, torn between two masters—God and money (Matthew 6:24). In contrast, generosity, careful stewardship of resources, eternal values, and faith God will provide reflect a heart fully devoted to God, not distracted by the glittering baubles of this life.

Most important, we must not bury our most precious treasure: salvation. Christ’s gift of redemption is not something to be hidden or hoarded but shared. Like a candle in the darkness or a shining city on a hill (Matthew 5:14-16), God’s grace should gleam from our lives, pointing others to a treasure far better than anything marked by an X on some tattered parchment.

Hidden treasure? No way! Not for the Christian.

About the Columnist: Eric K. Thomsen is managing editor of ONE Magazine. Email: eric@nafwb.org.