Faith Works 10-10-20
Jeff Gill
When your stuff looks back at you
___
So you have too much stuff.
Trust me, that puts you in an overwhelming majority. And if you have someone else's stuff, on top of your stuff, that's part of the sandwich generation experience as well.
In fact, I've learned these last few weeks that there are many of us who are coming to grips with having to sort through a house of a parent or family member after their death or relocation into care, and finding out that within their stuff is the stuff of their parents' home, sometimes three and four generations of relatively unsifted, stacked up, piled together stuff.
And I keep using the word "stuff" because it's a good resting place in between junk and treasures. I'm avoiding a side-trip into antiques altogether, especially because so much of what people think amongst their belongings, their own or inherited, are of antique value or are truly collectible assemblages, are . . . not. I'll let someone else write a column about how to identify items of value; my work has brought me up against the reality that this is not a common problem most of us need to worry about.
So we have stuff, not to say junk, because it has value if only because of associations and history. I've got items in my home which were made by my father for his mother, or made by an aunt's suitor as a peace offering after her marriage to another. Neither are of an iota of value on the open market, but if you're related to those people, they are precious beyond price stickers.
Which is why my most sincere plea to all of you who have been reading (and praying) along with me on this journey of breaking down two homes (and starting to maneuver around the edges of a third) and thinking about our stuff, our own and inherited, comes down to three sincere suggestions:
First, get rid of as much junk as you can. That starts with admitting what's junk, and treating it as such. Out of a parental home, everything might have a personal connection, so you have to be wary here: your visceral reaction may not be reliable. But holding onto to stuff for recycling or handing over to the places that historically have taken household stuff is trickier than ever, because with COVID everyone's been doing at least a little closet cleaning, and they're swamped. Some have stopped taking items altogether. So I'm just gonna say it: when in doubt, dumpster it. Really.
Second: if it's going to someone, start the process. And be ready to learn from the process. It begins with just going ahead and giving it to them – if you have stuff you're holding onto because "it's going to Muffy when I die" then why are you keeping it? And if you're holding back because you suspect Muffy doesn't want it, let's face that now, shall we? If Muffy is in an apartment and wants it someday, when they have more room, and you can spare the space, fine, otherwise, let's sort this out now. At the very least, make a list, put labels on the undersides, have that family meeting this Thanksgiving: decide in the open who gets what.
My siblings and I have been blessed with no disputes over furniture and such, but as a minister I have witnessed far too many tragic scenes of anger and estrangement over sideboards and dining room tables. But I've also been delighted by tales at funerals of how grandmamma had everyone sit down and talk through years ago who gets which item. Last minute adjustments after the funeral are simpler and less tense when the major questions have been dealt with out loud, working together.
Third: those last stacks and piles. You need to do the spiritual discernment, the prayerful process of asking yourself what they mean. Most of what we hold onto in terms of stuff has to do with what we're holding onto emotionally, unresolved, in tension. Clothes we won't wear again are indexes of body image anxieties or lost youth; hobby items unused, unopened, ask us questions about our choices and priorities in the past; childhood amusements can be pure sentiment and love, but they also often suggest conflicts and wounds still unhealed, the stuff of youthful sorrows still unmourned, awaiting redemption.
And there is redemption. I've given quite a bit to God as I stood at the lip of dumpsters, heaving and tossing. Yes, I've pulled a few items back. We're all a work in progress with our stuff.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's almost done with this phase of stuffism. Tell him how you've navigated the swamps of stuff at knapsack77@gmail.com, or on Twitter @Knapsack.
