By Patricia Patnode

Twice a year, on Thanksgiving and Christmas, my mom and I perform a small ritual that feels both nostalgic and a little absurd. We open the dark wood china cabinet in our dining room and carefully pull out my parents' wedding dishes. These dishes, which have sat mostly untouched for the better part of the year, are lovely white plates speckled with a delicate blue flower pattern, complemented by matching sauce decanters and serving platters. They’re undoubtedly elegant, probably from a, now shuttered, department store like Dillard’s or Yonkers. But before we set the table, we have to wipe off the dust that has accumulated since the last holiday.

These dishes were a thoughtful wedding gift, a symbol of a new life together. Yet, as I hold them in my hands, I can't help but think that identical sets are probably available at any number of Midwest garage sales every weekend. Goodwills and Facebook Marketplace are flush with baby boomers giving away furniture and household items their children don’t want. It’s particularly hard for me to walk through estate sales and see beautiful pieces that were once cherished, now stuck with tags and discount stickers. What does it say about our culture and our values when the things that were once so special, so carefully preserved, are now so easily discarded?

Photo by Emily Malloy for Theology of Home IV

Nice dishes were meant to be used, to hold the meals that nourish family connections. Yet they spend most of their time hidden away, protected from the wear and tear of daily life. But what good is a possession if it’s only admired from afar, tucked away for fear of a chip or a crack?

This isn’t just about dishes; it’s about how we value and use the things we own. We seem to be caught in this trap of preservation over usage, admiration over enjoyment.

We save the "good stuff" for special occasions, but in doing so, we miss out on the simple pleasures of using what we love in our daily lives.

Perhaps this is a relic of a bygone era when material goods were more scarce, and the best china really was reserved for Sunday dinners and important guests. But times have changed.

In an age where identical replacements are often just a click away, why do we still cling to the idea that some things are too precious for regular use?

Assuming your family dishes aren’t one-of-a-kind antiques once owned by a former First Lady or royal, it’s time to give yourself permission to use them. Life is too short to reserve beauty for rare moments. Imagine the joy of bringing out those lovely plates on an ordinary Tuesday, turning a simple dinner into something a little more special just because you can.

We are the stewards of our possessions, so we should use them well. There’s a certain freedom in letting go of the fear that using something will diminish its value. In truth, its value grows the more it’s used, the more it becomes a part of your daily life, infused with the memories of everyday moments.

Now, when I’m home in Iowa I pull the dishes out of the china cabinet with my mom for dinner.

When I inherit them, I’ll let them bear the marks of a life well-lived, with all the scratches, chips, and wear that come from actually being part of my family’s story, not just a prop in it.

Usage and full enjoyment should far outweigh preservation and admiration. The real value of these things lies not in their perfect condition, but in the love and memories they help create.

Patricia Patnode works in Washington D.C. and is a regular contributor for The Cedar Rapids Gazette and The Conservator, among other publications. She received a B.A. from Loras College in her home state of Iowa and teaches religious education and ice skating classes in her spare time.