Stuff

We collect stuff, all of us. Clothes, shoes, tools, cooking utensils, candles, knick knacks, photos, music, cars, books, movies, paperwork, files, junk mail, vitamins. Some of us are organized with our stuff. Some of us are packrats and save everything, even old ziploc bags and microwave dinner containers from the 1980s. Some of us throw stuff out easily (many times prematurely), with an almost Spartan-like mindset (me and one of my daughters). Others are hoarders, and love being surrounded by more and more stuff.

I feel compelled to write about this because my husband and I are both dealing with different spectrums of the human being's propensity to collect stuff, for two different moms. My mom has very little stuff, but a lot of what she has really is just junk. It is truly sad to realize that her entire life, from 1927 until now, through four marriages and five children, eight grandchildren, and numerous households, fits in one bedroom and a small storage unit. Much of her "stuff" is falling apart or stained or has been repaired multiple times. Other things are irreplaceable treasures and memories--things we made as kids, old photos, her husband's flag from retirement. And her selection of items to have in her room puzzles me--her photo albums are all in storage, but she keeps a framed photo of her dog on her dresser--and that dog is actually living with her. We have offered to hang up personal items, but after nearly three months the only "personal" item on her wall is a calendar.

Then there is Alex's mom...a packrat in the true sense of the word. They are still living in the same house they bought  brand new back in 1977, and the original decor and carpet is still intact. They have amassed quite a collection of flashlights, junk jewelry, clothes, coupons, vitamins, Beall's Outlet shirts, books, and memorabilia. I still remember how shocked I was the first time I visited them back in 1990--I went into the bathroom to use it, and saw over 20 toothbrushes...in at least five different toothbrush holders on the pink formica countertop. All had been opened. There were also at least four containers of hair gel, the blue 'dippity do" from the 1960s. I am fairly sure those are still there. They have three refrigerators and one full size freezer, full of Marie Calendar meals and Klondike bars in every conceivable flavor. Then there are clothes-- despite Connie's concerted efforts to donate  a bag of clothes every week over the past 18 months, at least three of the four full length closets are packed with outfits, many of which still have price tags.  There are sticky notes, newspaper articles from every decade since the 1950s, wallet sized photos of every school picture of her sons and grandkids. Then there are the treasures...letters from Alex's grandparents, an old family Bible, letters Alex's dad wrote while serving on a remote overseas. Since his mom's heart attack nearly two weeks ago, Alex has been filling in as the primary caregiver for them both, and has been overwhelmed with the gargantuan task of clearing out the stuff. He likened it to someone dumping an entire dumpster of garbage in your backyard, and going through the entire pile to find maybe two or three small, surprise treasures out of a ton of crap. It is an understatement to say my darling husband has the patience of Job.

Stuff.  It defines our lives. Sometimes it controls our lives. But most of the time, it is just extra stuff. The most important things in our lives cannot be put in boxes or on shelves or on a CD ROM. The relationships we have with others and with our Lord are the only eternal bits of stuff.