In two short weeks, our two college students will be home for the summer, and I have been busy preparing for their re-entry. While much of that preparation has been mental (more on that next week), I've also been preparing to incorporate all they have accumulated in their respective campus housing. Everything from televisions to tents, mini-fridges to posters I probably won't approve of, will have to find a place in an already overstuffed home.
Four kids, two adults, 10 pets and a home business can quickly fill a dwelling to excess with superfluous belongings. Thus, it has been my mission to weed out the unwanted, obsolete, outdated, irreparable and unneeded, making room to store essential collegiate clutter.
Amazingly, even though I purge at least once a year, I still managed to fill two dozen boxes with items that will never be missed. Perhaps the time was just right for seeing certain things in a new light. Now that our kids are older, it seemed less insensitive to get rid of the 46 trophies they were awarded for minor and major accomplishments. I kept the ones they actually earned, but the lion's share were prizes given in the elementary years when they came in last place in one endeavor or another. We gave them meaningless trophies, and of course a snow cone, to show them they were still "winners" in the eyes of their parents and spare our children's self-esteem, postponing the reality of life's disappointments until they are old enough to talk it over with a therapist. In the years to come they can now also tell how their mother threw out their precious trophies.
Also past its emotional expiration date is our Beanie Baby collection. It's time to say goodbye to Daisy cow, Bushy lion, and their 62 formerly coveted companions. The Beanie obsession that at one time had us searching the countryside and eBay for the newest baby, gave way to Xbox mania. We also no longer need Beanies' best friend, Barbie, or her car, van or camper that transported them. All told, I estimate our investment in my daughter's short-lived, four-month interest in all-things-Barbie at $250 and the Beanies at over $500 – or in garage sale money, $10.75.
Other items that have gone from treasured to trash include a state-of-the-art 18-pound home video camera, a must-have Magna Doodle purchased at a 5 a.m. doorbuster Christmas sale, 47 obsolete computer game CDs, 14 pairs of almost-new tennis shoes that were outgrown before they were worn out, sundry cutesy knickknacks, Furby, four expensive remote-controlled cars minus the controls ... you get the idea. Any item not currently in use, like within the last 24 hours, was boxed for the charity store. Only keepsakes that invoke nostalgic tears survived — like my son's one-eyed Teddy and my daughter's first pair of cowboy boots. Otherwise, I was ruthless. Out with the old; room for the new.
It was a long process, but keeping focused on the fact that all the incoming college stuff will soon be going right back out, I cherish the fact that I have pared down to only what I truly love or need. There is an unfamiliar feeling of liberation in that knowledge. Perhaps because the "stuff" so many of us possess takes up more than room in our homes; it takes up coveted room in our hearts.
A. W. Tozer said, in "The Pursuit of God," "The blessed ones who possess the kingdom are they who have repudiated every external thing and have rooted from their hearts all sense of possessing. These are the 'poor in spirit.' ... These blessed poor are no longer slaves to the tyranny of things."
While possessions are unavoidable companions through life's journey, they can also be an interloper that moves from our homes to our hearts, stealing valuable space in our souls to the point of crowding out intimacy with God. There is a time for us all to separate the treasure from the trash, dispossessing all that possess us except for Jesus Christ.
