I never know what to think about garage sales.  Melissa took several big tubs full of hot wheels cars, baby dolls, and books to a big indoor garage sale today.  It’s a pretty good deal.  Each seller has to make sure each item is clearly marked with a removable price tag and then you can just drop your stuff off, the organizers sell it and then give you about 75% of the profits.  Nice and easy.

But here’s what I don’t like about garage sales … well, here’s the basic thing I don’t like about garage sales (there are lots of little things to hate about garage sales):  for me, it’s always one of those “damned if you do and damned if you don’t” scenarios.  If I put something in a garage sale and it sells, I often feel guilty.  “I can’t believe you just gave me cash for this object I have obviously deemed worthless and unnecessary!  Sucker!”  But if I put something in a garage sale and it doesn’t sell, I get defensive.  “What?  The stuff that I spent my hard earned money on isn’t good enough for you?  Even though I’m offering it for a fifth of what I paid for it?  Snob!” 

After lunch I started sorting through a box of items mostly from our Pensacola days.  I did a pretty good job of moving quickly through the contents – considering it’s been five years since I’ve looked through these things. 

Here are some of the contents and their fates:  Old daytimers – thrown away, even though I wanted to flip pages and see what was occupying my days 9 years ago.  Some picture frames – to be given away, maybe to Goodwill, even though some were gifts from close friends.  A floating pen souvenir from the coolest laser tag arena I’ve ever been to – thrown away, even though it pained me.  (It was a place in Saudi Arabia which was just incredible.)  Photographs – about half were kept and the other half lingered over briefly before being thrown.  A FishForce baseball cap – kept, even though I look goofy in hats.  I had forgotten all about it, but now that I’ve rediscovered it, I’m just not ready to part with it!  (Afterall, I was the one who designed the FishForce logo.)  A Kermit the Frog keychain – to be given to Melissa for her kindergarten prize box.  A traveling communion set (!) – not sure what to do with this yet.  Know anybody who needs one?? 

I keep wondering what Melissa and I will do with the leftover stuff that we want to keep but we can’t take with us to Haiti.  Pay for indefinite storage in some warehouse or see if we can claim a corner of some relative’s basement?  It’s hard to predict, but I’m sure some plan will be necessary.  If for no other reason than for things like the paper I found in the bottom of this box today.  It was a print out of the email my oldest brother, Ryan, sent out to extended family members and friends when Dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  The note covered the diagnosis, the futility of pursuing any sort of aggressive treatment, and the prognosis … and it ended with the announcement of the birth of our first daughter.  I can’t bring myself to toss something like that into the recycle bin.

Melissa just called me a pack rat.  Me!  A pack rat! … just because she asked me what I had given away today and I showed her the little bow-tie wearing penguin in the picture to the left.  She asked, “Where did THAT come from?” And my reply is what elicited the “pack rat” dig:  “I’ve had it since college.” She doesn’t realize that this little stuffed animal has significance.  It must have been my sophomore year in college.  On weekends when I stayed on campus, I would attend the local United Methodist Church, and that year I was just starting to help out with the youth group there a bit.  So when the church sent out pre-final-exam care packages to its home-grown college students in far off places, the youth pastor was thoughtful enough to include some of us local college students in the give away as well.  It meant a lot to me.  I don’t remember what else was in that little cardboard box – probably some candy, a few ink pens, maybe some homemade cookies – but the one thing that stuck with me was this little stuffed animal.  Who would have thought to put a stuffed animal in a care package for college students?  But there he was – sticking around long after the candy was eaten and the pens ran out of ink. And who would have thought at least one of those college students (perhaps there are many more, we can’t be sure…) would still have that little stuffed animal 22 years later? I also remember that Masato, the Japanese exchange student who shared the second floor of Morris Hall with us for the year, took an instant shine to the little penguin and referred to it as his “bonnie”.  The only thing I could figure was that Masato had gotten his English words mixed up and was calling it a “bunny”.  In the end it didn’t matter why he did it, we made fun of him all the same.  …and often threw it at him.  Such fond memories! Tomorrow our small group is putting together some care packages for disadvantaged kids around the world through Operation Christmas Child.  Today I say goodbye to my Bonnie – he has remained with me long enough.  He will go into one of those boxes and be shipped overseas to a child who will excitedly unwrap the package, eat the candy, and cradle my Bonnie in his arms. Perhaps, in some small, tangible way, Bonnie will demonstrate God’s deep love for that small child.  And, for all I know, that kid will treasure Bonnie for the next 22 years … or lose him later that day.

At the end of each pool season over the last few years that we’ve been in this house I’ve looked for some clearance-priced water toy to set back for the next summer.  So a couple of months ago I picked up some fish-shaped dive sticks.  They are still in the original package.  I brought them in tonight from the garage because Melissa is trying to get some toys and books together to sell at a big community garage sale this weekend and I’m hoping we’ll have no need for dive sticks when next June rolls around since our pool will – God willing – belong to someone else! Melissa and I encouraged the kids to each scour their rooms tonight to find toys to put in the sale or to place in the shoeboxes our small group will be sending to Operation Christmas Child.  We said this would be a good time to start downsizing since we won’t be able to take much with us when we move.  As far as our kids were concerned, this idea went over like Fred Phelps at a funeral. 

Eventually, Dats (age 9) and Ida (age 7) reluctantly sorted through a crate of toy cars they hadn’t touched but maybe once in the last year and there they found about five of the 150 or so cars to be suitable for donation.  The Drama Queen (age 8) caught me sneaking a small, pink gorilla from its forgotten shelf in the laundry room (where it had perched for nearly five months) to the give-away pile and burst forth into tears:  “That’s mine!”  (I can understand the attraction – it has the words “Squeeze Me” on its chest and when you do, it gives a little catcall whistle.  Very classy. Plus, it’s wearing sunglasses.)  Of all the kids, only the Princess (age 3) seemed willing to throw multiple toys on the pile  …  commendable, except for the fact that most of the toys she threw didn’t actually belong to her. I’ve already said that the kids are excited about the prospect of moving to Haiti, and they are.  But I’m smart enough to know that the hard reality of sacrifices, both big and small, is going to hit every member of this family … repeatedly… in the coming months and years.  I would very much appreciate your prayers for wisdom and strength for Melissa and me in preparation for that hard reality’s arrival.

Another embarassing relic from my garage.  Remember the old “Scholastic Book Club” catalogs the teachers would send home with you from school so that you could pester your parents into buying some book or magazine (or poster) for you?  Those catalogs are still around.  As a kindergarten teacher, Melissa still places Scholastic orders a couple of times a year.  (Turns out those sneaky Scholastic folks have been bribing the teachers into pushing their catalogs for years with assorted freebies for the teachers themselves!  Scholastic entices the teacher, the teacher entices the student, the student begs the parent who eventually gives in and pulls out the check book. What a racket!) Guess what year I pestered mom and dad for this poster I JUST HAD TO HAVE to decorate my bedroom for Christmas?  If you guessed 1979, you are absolutely right (and maybe a little bit psychic … and that’s creepy!).  Speaking of “creepy”, I just admitted on the World Wide Web that I have spent the last 31 years clinging to a kitty poster.  (You have to admit:  they are cute!)  But NOT ANYMORE.  It is in the recycle box with all the credit card offers that came in the mail today.  Of all the things I own, I will probably have the most problem parting with those which are purely sentimental.  And I’ve got boxes of emotional souvenirs around here. I gathered the kids around the poster before I tossed it and I gave them a little sermon.  I said the poster was proof that I could empathize with them and their desire to hold on to all sorts of toys and trinkets and craft projects.  It’s a good thing for me to recognize this tendency in myself because long before we started talking about selling the house, their pack ratting had been a point of contention – last week the Drama Queen (age 8) cried when I threw away a fragment of cardboard covered in scotch tape to which she had grown attached!  I went on to tell the kids about the rich young ruler who came to Jesus (in Luke 18) and said, “Teacher, I’ve been a good guy all my life and followed all the rules.  What do I have to do to get eternal life?” And Jesus responded, “There’s just one last thing… sell everything you’ve got, give the money to the poor and follow me.”  And the man walked away.  He was too attached to his things.  For dramatic effect, at this point I tore my poster and threw it in recycling. When I finished my little sermon, Dats (age 9) asked, “What happened to that guy?”  I said I didn’t know … that the Bible doesn’t say anything more about him.  My boy Ida (age 7) said matter-of-factly, “He probably went to Hell.”  And I believe Ida just showed himself to be bolder than 99% of American preachers.

Tonight we had a great opportunity to gather at OMS headquarters at Beka’s invitation.  All but one of our mission team to Haiti was able to make it.  We had a great meal together and then toured the OMS facility before hearing from Beka about her journey with God.  At the end of the evening, her parents led us all in prayer for her.  I wished we didn’t have school tomorrow so that we could all just hang out together for several more hours.  Responsibilities stink!

I took the opportunity to ride with my new little brother, Todd, on the way to Greenwood this evening.  We really haven’t had a chance to catch up to any extent since we got back from Haiti.  Todd was my roommate for most of that week.  He’s the young, adventurous type.  Our team had the chance to chill for a day on a gorgeous beach with some of the missionaries from the compound.  When lunch was served, one of the plates was a whole fish – nose to tail.  I dared Todd to eat one of the eyeballs with me.  I was hoping he would turn me down.  He didn’t.  So I couldn’t just call him a wimp and then laugh the whole thing off … I had to go through with it.

I was not expecting it to be crunchy, so I was a bit disgusted … as you can tell from my facial expression.   There was a small, hard, pearl-like globe at the center which I took to be the lens.  I cleaned up this “pearl”, stashed it in my camera case and brought it back to Indiana.  It was my one souvenir that held the most fascination for my four kids once I got back home!

Anyway, on the ride to Greenwood tonight, I gave Todd my copy of Donald Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz” (subtitled “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality”).  I know … it’s easy to give away books.  I’ll need to find something a bit more challenging this week.  Melissa says she wants the house ready to put on the market in a few weeks.  Yikes! Todd, let me know when you get around to reading the book… I’ll be curious to hear your impressions.