Saturday, May 8, 2010

STUFF for sale

Ah, the blissful sounds of Saturday. A do-nothing kind of day. A day wherein I watch a baseball game or perhaps play a game of golf and certainly listen to the birds sing that song of whimsy that is drifting through the tree limbs this morning before dawn.

Or maybe it's a spectacular day to have have a garage sale, a yard sale, a moving sale, a sale of STUFF.

Yep. The Turners are selling their stuff. It's an upset right up there with the Jets over the Colts in 1969, Super Bowl III, way back when I knew what Super Bowl it was before the roman numerals (which by the way make no sense now that we've gotten in the 40s ... I think). The Turners have hauled, pushed, picked up and sorted. The Turners have everything for sale except the sign that says "The Turners." That's only because I didn't figure there are enough Turners around to make a sale on that sign or it, too, would be up for sale.

We've already sold big-ticket items like the riding lawnmower, a queen-sized bed, mattress and frame both and some things like that tent fold-up mattress holder thingee that we used, oh, once. And of course, the tent itself. We also sold some things that we weren't sure what they were, but at some point in our history, we had purchased them. I think.

We have books galore. One would think that with all the books out there for sale, books that we've read supposedly, we would be smarter. But I digress.

We have coolers, big and small. We have clothes, mostly big that I'm happy to say no longer fit and in a pithy moment of faith will never fit again. We have dress clothes and casual clothes and even some belts that, again, do not fit. We have shoes that do fit but were deemed inappropriate wear or ware depending upon your viewpoint.

We have a blue recliner that graced my mother's living room for more years than I care to rememeber. We have baby clothes (again in a pithy moment of faith that we will never need them again).

In a category that most of America will understand: we have STUFF. All cheap as a houndstooth hat at Auburn, Ala.

We are hoping it all goes and that all that millions of dollars helps fund the re-doing of our home's floor. We have shuffled things in and out of rooms this week, taking stuff outside and taking up flooring so that we can rebuild and rejeuvinate and eventually rent.

We've done all this so that we could have a fresh, newish new house that we can leave, without our stuff, of course.

The parsonage we've moving is so small it might as well have a sign that reads "No room for STUFF in the inn."

Jesus had a thing about STUFF, by the way. He said this of it: Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell. What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.

At a glance, that might not seem to be about STUFF, or at least about only bird STUFF. But look more deeply. Jesus is saying that our STUFF should not matter to us that much because God will look after our STUFF while we look after the things of God.

I know this because I have a gazillion Bibles, none of which are for sale today.

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