Help Arrives!

Hallelujah! I previously mentioned that a group might be coming to the house to help clear stuff out. Well, indeed they did! My mom has been attending the nearby Crosspoint Church . They encourage missions globally and locally. My mom mustered up the ability to ask for help when they mentioned they were there to help families/friends of the church and they worked it out. This past rainy Saturday at 8:30 in the morning, as part of their #ServingSaturday program, a team of around 20 or so people showed up at our house.


My mom (and myself, to some degree) was rather nervous about the arrival of the team. She's known she needs to get things cleared out, but trying to prepare herself to face it head-on, especially with so many unfamiliar faces, was daunting. The team was So very friendly and eager to help. They all donned gloves and protective masks and went to work taking trash, boxes, and random relics of our past to their designated places outside of the garage. The church had organized it so that a Goodwill truck was there at the start and a dumpster truck arrived at the finish.

My Mom chose to have the crew focus on the garage. My cousin planned to come a few hours later and start helping me with the basement, we thought we would cover more ground that way. Unfortunately, the Goodwill truck was parked at the top of our driveway, so my cousin wasn't able to make it to our house. She wasn't even able to call my cell because I dropped it in a glass of water Friday night. (The second time I've done this in just a couple of months! The phone is currently drying out in a bowl of rice. We'll see if this works.) It's just as well though, I suppose, because I don't know how much gusto I would have for my cousin after working through all the garage stuff.

So some things were easier to part with than others. My mom did fairly well. There were, however, several times she would look at me, almost hopeless, and say, "Tell them 'thank you, I love you, go home.'" After hearing the questions "What about this?" "Where does this go?" My mom began passing the role of answer-person off to me. She was pretty passive on a large amount of items, but some of her stances surprised me. "Don't get rid of denim! Any denim." Okay? Yeah, I'm pretty sure there was a big storage tub of denim that got donated. But never fear, I think there were at least two more where that came from. Her Children's Church supplies were also another tricky set of boxes. She was happy to entertain the thought of passing them along to someone who would find good use for her props and object lessons. (The woman was a Sunday School teacher and Children's pastor my entire non-adult life.) Sadly, we had noticed the Goodwill truck considered much of our would be donations to be trash. While I don't want to encourage hoarding box after box, I hope we held on to those ministry boxes so my mom can share them with someone who could surely find good use for them.

Garage finds: yesteryear's church prop,
this year's Halloween prop.

As the crew's diligence persisted, I looked through the open garage doors. Most of the piles had been cleared out and I could see to the driveway. I saw something that stung me, something of my own. I hadn't seen when it was put out there. I only noticed it once it was already soaked. I debated whether or not to pick it up. I walked into the rain, lifted it off the pile and winced. It was my cardboard Larry Bird basketball backboard. I think "if I take this back and dry it off, they'll look at me the same way they must be looking at my mom." I put it back on the pile and walked over to my mom to direct her attention to it. I started to walk towards it at least one more time, but I tell myself no and try to disguise my embarrassing teary eyes with the rain. See, while the helper sees an old piece of cardboard with the image of a ball player they probably don't recognize, I see the very happy, decades old memory of an uncomplicated Christmas with both of my parents spoiling their only daughter with a toy from one of my dad's favorite teams.

As I was standing by my mom, she seemed to be grappling her own let-it-go dilemma. Another kids' church box had been opened and she wanted to take just one item from it. It was a wooden box like thing with hearts on either side, one side of which is broken. I tried to convince her to let it go. I never understood its purpose as an object lesson. I couldn't see its use. And to top it off, it was broken. Never the less, my mom sat there clutching her broken heart box, determined not to let it go. The irony was not lost on her, she appeared to be laughing at her own tragedy.

All in all, it was a successful morning. My mom and I spoke with a couple of the people who helped out. Rita and Shawna were so kind and understanding. Anthony, who I'm assuming was one of the group leaders, would not allow the task to be left uncompleted. He seemed sincerely eager to help get things livable and mentioned planning another Saturday to continue the job. A place like this can get a lot of unpleasant responses, but I didn't feel any judgement. I even heard one of the helpers say he wanted to check with my mom about a rejected piece of furniture before it was thrown out. When we tried to express our thanks, they responded by thanking us. While it could have been a convincing act, I really believe they were sincere. James wrote that undefiled, true religion is to help the widowed and the fatherless. While I am neither, I believe it also applies towards helping a somewhat feeble, middle-aged woman, with a task too big to tackle alone. And there is one of those in this home, to be sure.

My mom and I don't know how to properly express our thanks to the team, but we're certainly grateful for the help to get this project moving. And I hope to keep the ball rolling. I have taken this week off to clean up and clear out the basement.