I started cleaning out the garage today. It was actually an interesting phenomenon for me. You know the garage is traditionally a “Guy Place.” It’s where we can go to hide, to process thoughts, to create. It’s our domain within the castle (and the rest of the castle, except maybe my office, most assuredly belongs to the Queen!). So, anyway, we couldn’t get the outside door open, so Nathan entered from the house, climbed over the top of the dark, unrecognizable pile of debris, and popped the lock. Then with him working to clear the way inside and two others lifting from outside (and me dutifully holding the flashlight for Nathan), we finally got the door open. And what a wonder we beheld. Christmas boxes were jumbled on top of bicycles. Games were upended onto the lawn mower. Tools and scrap lumber poked out from unexpected places. Two bags of recyclable aluminum cans held their ground under the weight of TV trays and storage box after storage box. Some things, though, remained right where I left them, almost eerily standing guard over the chaos all around. The rake and shovels. My Hand saw. The Christmas tree box.
Our artificial Christmas tree is another story altogether. We’ve had it for years, and it’s really full and pretty when set up. It even looks real. But it’s kind of hard to set up. And as the boys got old enough, it became their job to get it out of the attic and put it together. In a nutshell, they hated that tree. That’s why it was in the garage in the first place … no one wanted to put it back in the attic. All three boys were hoping beyond hope that, of all the salvageable items in the entire house, the Christmas tree would NOT be one. Yet, there it was. The box actually did have some water in it, and the jury of one (Mom) is still out on whether or not it stays, but it was sure worth the look of horror on the boys’ faces when they realized “the tree” was still around.
OK, back to the phenomenon. In spite of the daunting task before me, for just a little while, I felt almost normal. All I was doing was cleaning out the garage like I always do. You know, take everything out. Look at it. Rearrange it – again. Put it all back. I’d done this a million times before. Except … I didn’t put it all back. Oh, we saved some things. Some tools. A few Christmas decorations. And we lost many more things. Papers and pictures stored from the boys’ old schoolwork, once destined for a scrapbook. Old board games (Kel was particularly sad to let go of The Lone Ranger - a real classic.
Something struck me as I pondered the saved-lost ratio of the stuff in my domain. The stuff we lost seemed to be symbols of our past – reminders of boyhoods gone by. The stuff that survived, though, could be seen as symbols of the future – tools for moving on and rebuilding. It reminds me of a great passage in Philippians 3:12-14, “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”
Father, thanks for reminding me that there is a future out there – somewhere. And thanks for assuring me that you’re already there. Amen.
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