Bag 10

My tenth bag has one item only in it.  A brown leather coat.  A bomber jacket.

Bought for my Boy when he was in high school, it went away to college with him.  When it found its way back to my home...many things had changed.

The first time that coat hung in my hall closet, I was married to my son's father, living the dream.  So I thought.  But soon after that coat arrived, our lives begin to unravel rapidly and soon all that was left was a bitter sense of loss, wounded hearts and a lost, broken family.

My Boy took the coat and went to college.  He dropped out of college.  He worked.  He didn't work.  There were whole months at a time that I didn't hear from him. 

In the meantime, life went on.  I healed.  I grew.  I changed.  I met a man...a Rocket Man and dared give love another chance.  We married and began a life together.

My Boy wandered in and out of our life.  A phone call.  A trip home.  And one day, a call asking if he could come home for Thanksgiving.  Would I send a bus ticket?  Would I?  Of course I would!  My Boy was coming home.

And while he was home, we talked and he made plans to come home and stay awhile. He didn't have anywhere else to go.  He went back to quit his job, gather his things and within a week he was back to stay.  On a bus.  With one box of belongings.  That coat was among his things.  It was hanging in my hall closet once again.

He lived at home for just over a year, and traveled a deep and sorrowful road with us. My Boy helped his sister through unbelievable tragedy.  He was a rock to my grandsons in a time of death and grieving, when they were too young to understand.

Over the months, my Boy and my Rocket Man forged a friendship that warmed my heart.  How delightful to see them watching sports together and enjoying an easy camaraderie.

He went with a friend to talk to the Air Force recruiter.  They signed up.  Although his actual entry into the Air Force was delayed by the events of 9/11 (all flights were cancelled and his boot camp was rescheduled) he eventually was sworn in and went to boot camp.

The coat stayed in my closet.

My Rocket Man began wearing the coat.  When the Boy came home after boot camp and his technical training, he came home with a wife.  And he graciously gave the coat to my Rocket Man, who has worn it gratefully over the past decade. 

Until last week.  When Rocket Man brought it home and showed me a rip in the coat.  One I can't repair.  We have no idea where or when the rip occurred, but he won't be wearing it to work any more.  In fact, he won't be wearing it anywhere.  It is going, in its bag, to the box at the Church House for coat collection for the homeless.  While Rocket Man can't wear it to work, a homeless person might could still find warmth in the coat.

That coat has kept two of my dearest loves warm and cozy.  It may be the only coat that was still hanging in my closet that hung in the closet of my other life so long ago.  In fact, I'm sure it was.  It spanned my worlds and now it is leaving my world forever.

There are other things that have spanned those worlds.  I brought some baggage with me, tucked deep in my heart when I married my Rocket Man.  The heart I gave to him was tender and scarred.  I was wise to trust him with it.  He has cared for it well, and while the scars remain, it has healed from the inside out. Much of the baggage has been discarded.  I found I didn't need it on the journey.

And the coat?  It has served us well.  Spanning decades and worlds, it has been a good coat.  As I drop it off in the collection box, I will pray a that God will bless the next wearer of the coat richly and wrap that person in His love and care.

Number Nine

A bag of recycles.

That's the bag today.

Coke cans. 

Empty medcine bottles. 

Some pieces of cardboard.

Not very sexy.  No big revelation here.  Just an ordinary day. 

Some days are like that. 

In our world, today held:

A close basektball game, with the other team winning.  Season's over.

A very funny story straight out of the blue about

Rocket Man's grandfather (Rocket Man Jr.-mine is Rocket Man IV)

The seed of a dream.

Special time with Boy Wonder.

Running into an old friend.

True heartbreak in the workplace.

In some ways, it seems like the good outweighs the bad.

But the bad was pretty big.

What to do?

With recycles, we're looking to see what can be done with plastic and some metal packaging to create something new.  Doing out part to conserve and repurpose.

What about the other?

For the lost basketball game

Oh, well!

Looking to next sport-next season

From the funny story

our tears were of laughter

For the seed of a dream

we are hopeful

For tender heart of the Boy Wonder

we are in awe

For the old-friend sighting

we are thankful that our feet were along God's path

because he needed some encouragement and kind words.

For all the good things of today

We offer thanks with grateful hearts.

With the heartbreak and brokenness of the day, we are doing the best we know to do. 

Praying for wisdom. 

Trusting in grace. 

Standing firm in our faith.

Recycle our used up lives, Dear Lord, and repurpose us for Your Kingdom.

~Mollianne

Letting Go

Bag number 8 has scarves in it.  Beautiful scarves.  Out of style and not worn in a long, long time. 

These were troublesome for me.  I don't really want them.  I don't even like all of them.  But many of them were gifts and I have a very hard time parting with something that has been given to me as a gift.

One was a gift when I had thyroid surgery.  A co-worker very thoughtfully knew that I would be very self-conscious of the large scar that traversed my neck.  She brought a brightly colored scarf to the hospital for me to wear and we draped and tied that scarf to cover what felt like a gaping wound.  A very sensitive gift.

Another was given to me by a friend who has since died.  I only wore it a few times, and I never felt it suited me.  I always thought it was a bit frumpy.  I appreciated the thought, but not the gift.

Then there was the red, white and blue scarf that my grandmother gave me.  It is a square scarf and not very large.  I never quite figured out how to wear it well, so I never wore it.  To be quite frank, I didn't really like it.  But my Neenie gave it to me, and I held onto it.  Because it came from her.

The last gift scarf was a lovely off-white silk scarf that my ex-husband gave me shortly before our marraige crumbled.  It was a surprise and I have figured out since that he probably gave it to me out of guilt.  It is a beautiful piece, but I have never worn it, either.  Honestly, I can't begin to imagine why I sitll have it.

All of these, and plenty that I've simply accumulated over the years, are in a bag to go to the Rummage Sale.  But I still feel a little guilty at the thought of parting with them.  Because they were gifts.  It seems somehow ungrateful to give away these pieces of fabric that someone picked out with me in mind and gave to me...for whatever reason. 

Goofier than that, there is a small part of me that thinks if I toss aside these gifts, maybe I will never again receive such a gift.  Totally irrational, I know.  More of a feeling than a thought and feelings don't have to make sense, do they?

Keeping those gifts serves no useful purpose, so I'm going to work through the goofy feelings and let them go. 

As I place them into the bag, I am going to be very grateful for the intent of the givers.  For my co-worker who was sensitive to my circumstance and possible embarassment.  For my friend who wanted to celebrate my birthday by giving me a scarf.  For my precious Neenie, who was so generous and giving. And who gave me many things that I do use and cherish.  Even for my ex-husband's scarf.  What motivated him to purchase and give it to me, I can only surmise.  No matter what the reason, the day I received it, I was thrilled.  He was able to pick out something that I find truly attractive and I am going to consider that he simply wanted to give me a gift and let it go.  Really let it go.  It no longer matters.

Letting go.  Not always easy.  Usually worthwhile.  Heart work at its best.  I'm working on mine.  How about you?  What do you hold with a clenched fist, for reasons that aren't always clear?

~Mollianne

Fare Thee Well

Today's bag comes from a place that I really like to ignore.

The attic.

What possessed me to get something from up there for my bag-a-thon, I'll never know.  But I knew what I was looking for was up there and it is time to take action. 

{in a whisper voice} I have a confession to make.
I love toys.  I really, really love toys.  I especially love toys that encourage creative play. 

I loved toys when I was a child.  I loved my children's toys and I love my grandchildren's toys. 

I am also a stickler for making sure we have all the pieces where they belong before we are finished putting the toys away.  Due to this tendency, some decades old toys in my house still have every.single.piece.  There was a time when my preschool son had about 50 cardboard puzzles, each with 25 pieces.  Each puzzle was coded and each piece had the code on the back.  If there were puzzle pieces on the floor, I simply turned them over and matched them to the puzzle.  I'm sure you do/did the same...right??

When Mac Attack (oldest grandson) was just barely 2, I bought a wonderful peg type toy that has 36 plastic color pegs and a pegboard.  Rocket Man looked at me and said, "Those things will be scattered to the wind in 2 weeks."  {Rocket Man and I did not raise children together.  My youngest was 16 when we met, so he didn't know that compulsive tendency about coding the puzzles}  I looked at him, laughed and said, "Really?  Game on, Bucko!"

Eleven  years later, I proudly bring that toy out...in its original box...every time we have a small child come visit us.  I happily take the top off the box and think to myself {not say out loud}, "Oh look!  All the pieces are still here."  And I hope he is noticing. 'Cause that is just how I live inside my head.

Another purchase I made that year was a  used toy from a friend whose son had outgrown it.  The Fisher Price Castle.  It is a thing of beauty.  A real, honest to goodness, pretend medieval castle, complete with cannon and turrets and a drawbridge.  Black knights and red knights to fight and play.  I adored that toy.  So did my grandsons. 

Alas, they played with it less when they acquired video games.  Then we begin to need more space in their room.  So the castle was lovingly placed in a black garbage bag and taken to the attic.  In case we need it again. 

Because you never know when a castle will come in handy!
It has been there for at least 5 years. 

And as much as I love it, I think it is time to let it go.
I don't know that I will ever need it again.  Or that I ever really *needed* it. 
And I happen to know 2 little boys who I think will really love that castle. 
And I'm not even worrying about if their precious Mother is a piece counter.  Not much.

It is time to share that toy.  It isn't doing anyone any good in my attic. 

And, quite frankly, I'm having a hard time at the thought of letting it go.  You see, we had such fun playing with that castle.  Firing the cannonballs from the cannmon.  Defending the flag.  Raising and lowering the drawbridge.  Learning to shout, "Run away or I shall taunt you again" with an outrageous accent (Yes.  Yes I did.  I went there with preschool boys.  I don't think they are harmed for it and I was amused).

It isn't the castle itself that I hold so dear.  It is the memory of play with my grandsons during some mighty hard times.  It was an escape for all three of us into an imaginary world where the Princess was fair and the Good Knights and Handsome Princes were defending her honor. 

If I'm honest with myself, I know that I don't need the castle to treasure the memories.  And I know some little boys who just might make some new and wonderful memories of their own.

Farewell, Ye Castle.  Fare Thee Well.

Bag o' Neckties

As I was going through the Rocket Man's drawers, cleaning out t-shirts, shorts, and whatnot he suggested that I go through his neckties and pare them down. He wears ties to his Rocket Office to do his Rocket Work daily, so he had an abundance of ties on the rack.

While I almost always pick out his tie for him {in fact, I have taken over the whole responsibility of laying out his clothes for him daily...keeping in mind that he is a color blind engineer} he puts them up at the end of the day. A difficult task as the rack was full to overflowing.

I happily took al the ties off the rack and sorted them by color. Then I checked each tie for stains, frayed ends and picked fabric. After I had tossed several because they didn't pass muster, there were still too many.

I sorted again and found that there were several ties that were almost identical. Not quite, but the color and design were mighty close. Obviously, I liked something I saw. And if I'm going to be honest, there were 2 ties that were identical. I must have bought the second one after the first, not remembering that he already had that particular tie. Ooops!My second gleaning left me with 20 excess neckties and a rack full of ties to keep. I examined the 20 again and found a half dozen that I honestly believe have never been tied around his neck.

The 14 worn ties are in a bag to go to the Youth Rummage Sale at church. The half dozen, never worn ties are in a gift bag to be given to a friend who will be thrilled to get such a gift.

What fun! I made the tie rack more accessible and will enjoy that I'm not picking up ties off the floor because they have fallen off. The ties are sorted and neatly hung in color groups {he's an engineer...I'm a bit compulsive}. And at the end of the day, I have a gift to give a friend.

In the past few years, I have come to truly know the joy of giving. Oh, I've always enjoyed the hunt for the perfect gift, the wrapping of said gift and the satisfaction of having my gift received by someone who was grateful. But there were times when I thought about what I might have gotten for me or mine with the funds that purchased the gift. Not that I really begrudged the gift, but there was a lingering thought of self.

I've learned that from my Rocket Man, who is as generous a man as I have ever known. He never gives anything with the thought of what he will receive in return.  He gives in full confidence that it is the right thing to do.  He is able to give because he has worked hard and can enjoy the fruit of his labor.  Under his care and by his example, I have learned to give without fear of going without.  I know that my needs are met.  I am safe.  He takes care of me. 

More than that, we are living in obedience to God with our resources.  It is satisfying.  It is safe.

And we are blessed beyond belief because of it. 

~Mollianne

Sundays Don't Count

Don't ask me why...but the Sundays in Lent don't count.  That is why we only count 40 days in the weeks between Ash Wednesday and Easter.  There are more than 40 days, but Sundays don't count.  Hey!  I didn't make the rules.

So I thought I would give a little more explanation about this short-term blog.  I read about a challenge for the Lenten season where people were going to declutter their spaces as a spiritual discipline by bagging up excess stuff during Lent.  There were all sorts of spins on it as I researched it and I can't say where the original idea came from.  Some folks are more environmentally concerned.  Some are just beyond what they can handle with stuff and need to clean out.

My initial reaction was that this is just GREAT!  I have to tell you, I have stuff that needs to go out the door and this sounded like just the ticket.  The end result of at least 40 bags less of stuff in my house that seems to be closing in on me by the week...that was terrific.

Until I really meditated on it.  While the end result would be fantastic, Lent is about more.  It is about spiritual discipline and finding ways to become closer to God.  To set apart those things that keep me from Him.  Which is why I've always been a bit skittish about the whole 'giving up for Lent' deal.  I know many people who have chosen to  give up coffee, chocolate, sweets, etc.  But if those things really keep me from God, maybe I ought to give them up forever...not just for Lent.

And, if you are a giver-upper and that is meaningful for you...I don't mean any disrespect.  It just hasn't worked for me. And I've tried.  I found that I whined about what I wasn't getting, obsessed on what I was 'giving up' and was thinking  more about the loophole of Sundays, which don't count than I was progressing spiritually.

As I pondered this, it came to me that each bag I filled with the excess stuff in my home had some sort of meaning and that if I looked at it more along the lines of cleaning out my heart of excess, I might come through the Lenten season with a clean heart and right spirit.  That, dear friends, it what I'm talking about. 

That is what really matters. 

It will be nice to have less stuff in my house.  But when Easter Morning dawns...I want my heart to be truly clean and ready to welcome the Risen Savior. 

Thus...the Bags.  My life will be a bit more decluttered, but my fervent prayer is that my heart will be much cleaner. 

Bagging up stuff is easy. 

The heart-work is not.

~Mollianne

Beauty Bags

Wow! It was a mega-bag day. A lazy Saturday and I worked it. I cleaned out my bathroom. Under the sink and in the linen closet.

I produced one black garbage bag stuffed full of trash. I filled a bunch of other bags with stuff to donate to GoodWill or give to my daughter.

I ruthlessly went through makeup, beauty products, medicine/first aid items, cosmetic bags, costume jewelry and decorative pieces. Rocket Man is fond of saying that I can put 10 pounds of mud in a 5 pound sack, and there must be some truth to it. Because I pulled lots of stuff out of those places. LOTS! A whole bunch.

It was embarrassing. Really. As I went through the stuff, I made a pile for my daughter and another for things that could go for donation and then the stuff that was just garbage, I came face to face with some things about myself.  I didn't like some of those things very much.

I love the makeup counters in department stores. And when you get free gift with purchase...I'm in heaven. Not that I need much of anything that they give away, but hey! Its free. Right? {and I'm not even going to discuss the whole purchase with purchase deal. Where the retailer offers me the opportunity to buy something else, because I just spent the requisite number of dollars on products.  That is just crazy. And I fell for it for years.  It nearly took a 12-step program to get me to step away from the makeup counter...but that is another story for another day} I adore the little makeup bags that you get with your free gift. I really, really love the short mascara in almost every gift. But for the most part, the items in the gift get tossed into the closet and hoarded in case I need them.

Which I never really do!

What makes me hoard samples of beauty products? I'm a fairly bright girl. I know that these products aren't really going to reduce my wrinkles, which I don't mind nearly as much as the scarring my skin has from my teenage breakout years. {hey...who am I kidding? On Tuesdays, I can buy my acne cream with a senior discount at certain places.  The trauma of teenage acne has turned into a lifelong battle...and I'm not winning!}


Why, oh why do I think that the right combination of skincare products and makeup will make me suddenly pretty or take away those years of just knowing that EVERYONE was staring at the perennial zit(s)  on my face?

Because, it really won't. But you don't get too far beneath the surface of me before you get to the "I wish I were really pretty" disappointment. I tell myself that the products cover up what my eyes see in the mirror. Kind of. Not really.

To make it even worse, I am married to an amazing man {although he is a color blind engineer and my rational brain filters any sort of aesthetic comment he makes through that knowledge} who tells me every day...every single flipping day...that I am beautiful.

And I don't listen.

I don't want to hear it.

I can't believe it.

Because I know I'm not.

I see every bump and pore and imperfection. I want him to have a truly beautiful mate. I think he deserves it. And I fall way short.

But he loves me and says it every single day. Even when I blow him off. Or tell him he needs to get out more. Or point out that he's a color blind engineer. Or say that he's not qualified to make such calls, he hasn't ever studied Beauty. I have. I was a Philosophy major in college and issues of Beauty (with the capital B) were hot topics in several of my classes. I'm trained in this stuff, Bucko, so just back off and let me wallow.  Okay?

Thing is...he just won't quit. He believes it. And every now and then, I let my guard down and almost believe that he is right and I am beautiful. It is an uncomfortable feeling. I've felt so not-beautiful for so long, it is sort of part of me. Its where I like to hang out and view the world.

You know what?  If my amazing Rocket Man thinks I'm beautiful...I ought to be grateful. Because others I've loved haven't always thought so and felt duty bound to tell me. And yet, I'm ungrateful, flippant and toss aside his gift of the words I really long to hear and believe. 

Which is truly ugly.  Maybe I'm right about not being beautiful.  If I can act so ugly, I must not be.  My Mother always told me 'pretty is as pretty does'.  And I throw a precious gift in Rocket Man's face.

So, when the big black garbage bag full of beauty products and makeup went out to the garbage tonight,

some ugly, festering, self-depricating goo went out to the trash with it. 

From my heart. 

In a black garbage bag. 

And, suddenly...I just felt better.

I am resolved to listen when Rocket Man says I'm beautiful and simply say 'Thank you'. Because he says it with love and from his heart. He wouldn't say it if he didn't believe it.  Doesn't matter if I believe it.  My job is to be gracious accept what he gives from his heart.

I am going to try to learn to receive his daily compliment with love and gratitude.   That would be a step toward embracing beauty...true beauty that isn't dependent on small pores and a smooth face.  The kind of beauty that I really long for, if I am brutally honest.  Of much greater value than the physical beauty.

Not an easy heart lesson my friends. Not easy at all.  But when he looks at me in the morning {which I feel certain he will, because he is such a creature of habit} and says to me that he thinks I am beautiful, I'm going to flash my sweetest smile and say thank you.  Then, I'm going to say I'm sorry that I have been ugly regarding his precious words.  I'm going to ask him if he will forgive me for being so ugly and tell him how much I love him.  Because that other garbage...its out the door.

Gone in a big, black garbage bag!

~Mollianne