The Stuff That Matters

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.