It was the
last day of cleaning out my dad’s house. All the smaller things had been boxed
up and moved, some to my house, some to my brother’s, some to Goodwill.
My brother
had been able to take the couch and loveseat; I claimed the dresser Dad
refinished after Mom died. The clothes mostly went to resale shops, but I kept
a few shirts to wrap up in when I missed him most.
We had gone
through it all…the big green bowl Mom used for her tuna-pea-pasta salad, the
brown blanket Dad liked throw over his feet…every little object a reason to
pause, and think, and remember. So many items passing through my hands, each
one coated in memories and made priceless because it had been held by hands I
could no longer see.
Finally all
that was left was the lumpy mattress from the bed Dad had built, the one with
the cutout heart in the oak headboard. We couldn’t use another mattress and resale
shops weren’t allowed to take them, and anyway, it was in pretty rough shape
after thirty years of use.
I’d called
the garbage company and scheduled a large-item pickup for mid-afternoon. The
kids were off amusing themselves in the empty rooms as I gave the floors one
last vacuum. I stalled as long as I could, reluctant to face the finality of
the job, but at last it was time to pull the mattress out to the driveway.
My entrance
to the bedroom was met with cries of, “Mom! Watch us!!” One of the kids hit the
Play button on their mp3 player. The funky opening sound of the pop song All Star
filled the room.
“Some..body
once told me the world is gonna roll me…I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed…”
The mattress
had been left on the floor of the room, waiting to be dragged out at the last
minute. The kids, experts at finding ways to have fun, had been passing the
time by bouncing industriously, making up a rowdy dance routine to accompany
the song. I smiled as they giggled and leapt, joyously reveling in the moment. “Hey
now, you’re an all-star, get your game on, go play…”
The song and
dance finished in fine style. Just then I heard the sound of the garbage truck
rumbling down the street. “Everyone grab a corner!” I hollered. We shoved and
heaved and got the mattress out into the driveway just in time.
The workers
with their strong arms tossed the mattress into the mouth of the truck. The
lower jaw slowly crunched closed. I caught a last glimpse, and then the
mattress was gone.
I leaned
against the van and watched as the truck lumbered on its way. It felt ruthless,
throwing away this intimate part of my parents’ lives, going through their
cupboards and closets, dividing up their earthly goods as though it didn’t
matter that these people I loved weren’t there anymore.
My mind
flitted back ten minutes to the scene in the bedroom. My somber reflections
melted into a smile as I thought of those goofy kids, jumping and laughing,
using the mattress as a springboard for their joy. Somehow, it seemed very right.
-----
That song still
comes on the radio once in a while. Every time I hear it I flash back to that
moment, leaning on the doorframe, watching the kids give the mattress one last
hurrah. There was freedom in the incongruity of that moment. Freedom to let go.
“So much to
do, so much to see, so what’s wrong with taking the back streets?” Optimism, curiosity,
looking forward, taking the scenic route…that, friends, is jumping on the
mattress. That’s what it is to loosen our grip on what we fear losing and turn
our palms up, ready to receive the good things God has placed ahead of us.
I think
there’s a place for sentimentality. Our Creator designed us with the ability to
feel, and to care, and to get all lumpy-throated when the doll our grandma made
gets ruined in the washing machine.
But when the
stuff is gone, what matters still remains.
What matters
about my parents, more than how much I loved them, even more than how much they
loved me, is how much they were loved by Jesus.
My loved
ones, your loved ones, were made priceless in their Father’s eyes by the hands
we cannot see, the nail-scarred hands that reach out to each of us, crashing
past the stuff and the sentiment and the empty houses and the garbage trucks
and telling us exactly why it is that we are worth being valued.
It’s not
about the stuff. The stuff matters, the stuff can make our hearts squeeze, but
it’s not about the stuff. It’s about how much Jesus loves you.
Jump on the
mattress. The mattress isn’t what’s important. You’re you, and you’re loved.
Crank up the radio and jump.
First published in The Alpena News on November 10, 2018.
