It was the dented light saber in the hands of the neighborhood boy that made me cry at 6:30 am this Saturday.
Though I loathe yard sales, we decided the best way to scale down before we left the country was to do one. And so last week it was a mess of junk drawers and backs-of-closets and clothes-we-never-wear. And Saturday morning dawned, and 5:30 am found Matt and I outside shoveling piles into a slightly-organized outdoor Goodwill with little white stickers everywhere. The gate was shut and we determined not to open it until the signs all over the neighborhood clearly stated– 8:30.
But then she bought her way in early with a plate of papaya — our precious Asian neighbor and her son, bringing “breakfast!” and eyeing the loot.
And we weren’t ready– the toys in particular hadn’t been sorted or priced. But I kept scurrying and they started browsing, while the kids stumbled out to the front yard in pajamas and sleepy eyes.
And when I looked up from across the yard, it was too late. The money had changed hands and the double-ended light saber– the one with the sound effects, the one we had crammed into suitcases two years ago, the one he had whacked against other light sabers from Colorado to Chiang Mai– was gone for about 2 dollars.
And I threw the first tantrum of the many our family threw that day. And, yes, there were tears and there was cussing.
“Why did you let her in? We can’t afford to replace that when we get home. Do you know how expensive those things are? He’s not going to have anything left, and isn’t that the one your mom and dad gave him two Christmases ago?”
But the day went on, despite my antics, like days tend to do. A 95-degree 7:30 rolled around and there were customers lining our gate. Then there was the frenzied first 15 minutes when you would have thought everyone was on one of those game shows where contestants have 5 minutes in a grocery store to fill a shopping cart to the brink. Then there was the sly lady who crammed toys in a bag and only wanted to pay for the bag, and the happy one who’s son nearly won the lottery because of finding an old GameBoy.
And then there was the reality of watching my nearly-mint homeschooling books go for quarters, while the picture books I have nearly memorized now after two years went for dimes.
And the mats got clearer, the yard emptier as the day wore on, which practically speaking is a necessary process– ten suitcases only holds so much, after all.
And I thought about what it means to leave well, to finish intentionally, to smoothly transition from one world to the next, and I was struck by the complexity of it all. The loss right there alongside the hope. The goodbyes spoken just before the hello’s, and the sadness and the joy all tangled up in the midst.
And sometimes the things you lose along the way are things you choose to let go of– like the homeschooling books that wouldn’t fit into the ten suitcases. And other times, the things lost feel out of your control– like your son’s favorite Star Wars toy grabbed by a papaya-bearing though well-intentioned neighbor, but, either way,
life and loss feel synonymous most of the time.
And in the transition from one season to the next, maybe the best you can hope for is a determination to be fully present in the process. Wrapping both arms somehow around the goodness and the mess of the past, as well as the goodness and mess that will be in the future.
And trusting, trusting that even amid lost light sabers and closing seasons, amid letting go and picking up, amid change after change after change,
God proves himself a Rock.
“Be still, my soul. The Lord is on thy side, to guide the future, as he has the past. . . . In every change, he faithful will remain.”
* This post prayerfully dedicated to my friend, Anna, who is releasing her precious foster children this week after a year-and- a- half. Pray for her family, would you?
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Over the next few weeks as our family moves from Asia to Colorado, I’ll be reposting some of my favorite articles from our years overseas. If you missed them the first time, maybe you’ll enjoy their repeats. Also, in case you were wondering about the future of this blog, I will most definitely continue writing honestly about our family’s transition {meltdowns and all}, our new efforts regarding the fight against modern day slavery, and my continuing working-out of life and faith in the future. I promise, these pages won’t be quiet for long.
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Allright, so, how about you? Experiencing transition right now yourself? Advice for me?
LauraParkerBlog.com.
