Second Hand

Summer is the season of the garage sale. This American invention allows us to offload our junk a buck at a time while allowing others to enjoy those things we have inherited, outgrown, or tired of. And we can make a bit of money in the process, which we can use to purchase even more junk.  

I don’t stop for EVERY garage sale, but I can hardly pass a sign without being tempted to make a stop. It’s interesting how often I’ll find the same things at a couple of sales in one day: the exact same jewelry box or similar wall hangings. Lots of people shop for baby items at garage sales, and kids’ clothes are always popular. I usually have a list of a few things that I’m on the prowl for, but generally I go in with an open mind and come out with something. From stocking stuffers to stock pots, from craft items to garden tools, from board games to furniture, I’ve secured lots of great stuff for pennies on the dollar.

Estate sales are the granddaddy of garage sales. Buyers are permitted to roam a person’s home and purchase virtually anything they can see. Estates sales are like time capsules, painting amazing portraits of the people who once lived there. The family’s size, income, faith, political leanings, hobbies, duration of time in the home…it’s easy to come up with a reasonably accurate accounting of the home and its inhabitants.  The stuff tells the story.

Estate sales also feel a little sad, because they are usually held when a chapter of life is closing: a family has been transferred to another state or an older person is no longer able to stay in the home. Once grandma is installed in her new residence, family members take what they want, and the rest—the flotsam and jetsam of a family’s history—is left to be picked over by strangers.

As I sort through the tables of tacky Christmas decorations, I’ll see things and wonder why in the world someone held onto them and why some estate sale dealer thought some sap would pay money for it. Other times I’ll leap on something, wondering how I was lucky enough to find such a great treasure—clearly no one could see the item’s amazing value. One of my great weaknesses is needlework, because I know the effort that goes into creating it. These pieces are usually inexpensive, so I often take a couple home in an attempt to save them from the indignity of becoming rags.

At every estate sale, I inevitable ask myself what it will look like when an estate sale will be held for my stuff. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to offload most of our family “heirlooms” to the kids long before the last round of downsizing, and as I pass them down, I want them to know the story of our things, because they hold pieces of our history. I know that not everything that has value to me will have value to them, or they may decide that in some cases, monetary value trumps sentimental value. I’m cool with that. As long as these things joy for someone, their value remains intact.

The Four

It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it started. The four of them probably first met when they all played together in the church nursery. By the time they were in elementary school, our families would go camping together with several other church families. During those weekends the four of them—as well as our many other children—would roam the campgrounds in packs or hang out together in each other’s campers or tents.

Although they attended different schools and had dozens of different interests, over time the four girls became best friends. Of course there were the usual girl things—fights and disagreements, alliances and separations, harsh words, immature and hurtful actions, the bitchiness of girls growing up. And there were times when they were just busy and involved in their own lives, but for the most part, the relationships persisted. They loved and understood each other, and they had each other’s backs. They hung out together on Sunday mornings and at youth group, but they also spent time together outside of the church’s walls.  

Allison, the oldest, was the first to graduate from high school. After a semester in college, she enlisted in the Navy. She was stationed in California when she met someone…and then she was pregnant. Last December she gave birth to a baby boy, and she has been doing a great job of raising him on her own, especially for someone so young who is so far from the support of family.

In the meantime, the other three graduated and moved on as well. The two in the middle went off to college, choosing larger schools, although one has returned to her hometown to attend community college. Both the young ladies have had their emotional and academic ups and downs, as has my daughter Kelsey, the last to graduate, now heading into her second year at Hope College.

After several months of failed attempts, Allison was finally granted a leave to come home to introduce Chase to her parents, and all of the rest of us. It was important to Allison that Chase be baptized during her leave, a beautiful testimony to the love and connection of our small church.

On the morning of the baptism, Chase was a perfect angel when the pastor placed water his head once, twice, three times. Allison read a beautiful letter written to her son that communicated her love for God and for the church where she herself had been baptized.

All the girls were there for Chase’s baptism. In spite of everything that had happened in the many months since they had all been together, it was a moment when you could tell that, in the chronology of friendship, no time had passed. They still have each other’s backs, and on this important day, they were there for Allison and for Chase.

Time changes friendships, and there’s no way of knowing how strong or how long any relationships will last. On the cusp of adulthood, these girls are making lots of choices that will continue to move them in different directions. I don’t know if the church will be a touchstone for them in the future, or if time will deepen their faith or diminish it. But for today, I’m grateful for the lives of four beautiful, amazing, flawed young women and the potential that lies in them. I am grateful for a church that fosters friendships and feels like family. And I’m grateful for Chase, a new member of the family, a child of God’s promise.