The bag

I’m not a hoarder or even really a collector.  I’m actually not even a little sentimental (to a fault) and have tossed all sorts of possessions most would’ve hung on to.  I’m just not into keeping items that take up space but serve no real purpose any more.  So when people have asked if we’re decluttering and doesn’t it feel good to get rid of stuff as we move, I have to be honest.  It’s really not a whole lot different than normal.

But what always surprises me is no matter how many loads I’ve taken to Good Will or how thoroughly I’ve ascertained this is everything, I’ll inevitably need to start another collection bag that very afternoon.  In my mind this is craziness.  Why can’t I just clear the clutter, get rid of the excess and have things tidy for more than a couple of hours?

Perplexing for sure. We’ll take a load with say a desk, coats and planting pots, snow boots, baskets and old summer toys, that kind of thing.  I’ll think we’re done, surely we’ve gathered it all.  But before the day is up, I’ll have to fluff open a new garbage bag and set up shop in the very same spot I’d just cleared.  I’ll have found an old pair of sunglasses.  A shirt that just came out of the laundry, decidedly too small for Bronwyn now.  Pajamas from last Christmas that ride above Callum’s ankles.  A decoration that doesn’t fit Avery’s purposes this week.  And on we’ll go until the new bag is bursting its seams and something needs to be done with it.  And the cycle continues.

I laugh at the absurdity of it all.  Why can’t we have one solid Saturday cleaning and reach all the corners, gather all the junk and just be done with it?  Why is there always more, why am I never able to scratch the entry, “Take Good Will,” off my to-do list permanently?

And then I’m amused because I see the lesson in it. I get it.

Because no matter how freshly I’ve started the morning, having dropped off the goods from yesterday, I will inevitably need a new bag to collect the litter of a new day.

I’ll need to re-think a conversation and apologize to a friend, I’ll have to slow down and give a hug, I’ll need to backtrack and try again, I’ll need to swallow my pride and make amends.  My bag is full by the end of the day.  Every day.  And I need to let God in on it all.

No matter how big a load I finally get rid of, how tough the apology was, how long I’d been hanging on to a grudge and finally let it go, or how sincerely I pray and ask for help, or when I finally admit my pride, I realize there are still always a million little things I’ve forgotten to add to the bag, that I need to repent of and change.

It’s praying, coming clean, admitting our shortcomings, committing to doing better.  Regardless of how genuine we are one day, there will always be items we failed to acknowledge.  Sometimes we have no idea they were there, like a hidden temper or a jealous streak waiting for the right conditions or an old coloring book or pack of Go Fish cards tucked behind a bed.  Things just continue to stream through our house and creep into our minds and lives that we have to constantly contend with, a new plastic fudge container or shiny Dollar Store cookie tray that once carried treats from friends that we just aren’t really interested in storing, a misunderstanding we never saw coming, plastic trinkets from a birthday party last weekend, an ego we thought we’d left at the door.  I’m constantly collecting items for my bag, issues I need to talk to Heavenly Father about.

I just think it’s worth keeping a bag close by—the lines of communication open, with both God and everyone else.  No point in thinking you’ve made your last drop-off as you brush your hands together in a sigh of relief before you drive off.  No, before the day is up you’ll have found an old water bottle under the couch that no one’s seen or needed for months, you’ll have been short with a family member over nothing that matters.  Before you’ve even got your coat off you’ll run across an old Hi Ho Cherry-o game from 12 years ago that someone dragged out, you’ll notice an off-thought running across your mind.  Not to worry. Start a new bag, apologize, say a little prayer, vow to be a little more thorough—careful—next time.  Just keep the bag handy.