We Americans sure do love our stuff. For much of my life, I’ve been at the top of that list. As a stylist for home décor publications and an avid collector of old-timey treasures—well, you get the picture.
When COVID hit, I decided a decluttering spree was in order. Previously, I had always relegated items to one of four categories: Keep. Toss. Donate. Sell. But this time I encountered things that tugged at my heartstrings. My prior system didn’t work. Then an idea hit me. What if I used those objects to communicate strengths I saw in others, to say thank you for their special gifts?
I added a new category to my paring-down arsenal: Encourage. It turned COVID-confinement into COVID-caring. Here’s what happened:
When I found a pair of tiny, still-in-the-box Mary Jane shoes, my thoughts went to Mandy, a new college graduate I’d met at the antiques mall. An old soul who adores vintage clothing, she’d just landed a job teaching second graders. “The teacher before me was the best,” she told me. “I’ll never fill her shoes.” I gave the black-leather beauties a good COVID cleaning, wrapped them in brightly-patterned paper, and ran them over to Mandy’s school. “Thinking of your gentle, enchanting ways,” I wrote. “The kids are going to love you. No one can fill your shoes.” Mandy tracked me down during her free period. “This is the best present I’ve had in like forever,” she squealed over the phone. “These sweet, little shoes will always be on my desk.”
An antique oak clock took me back to my mother’s hospice nurse. The morning the hospital brought Mom to my cabin to die, Debbie made a house call. When the clock’s gong seemed suddenly loud and intrusive, we silenced the brass weights. “It’s about the moments now, Roberta,” she said, taking my hand. “Cherish every single one.” The beauty of Mom’s final days, all orchestrated by Debbie’s wisdom and goodness, continued to bring me strength two decades later. That clock belonged in Debbie’s cottage. Later, when I visited Debbie, it wasn’t the clock she pointed out first. It was my simple words, center-stage on her refrigerator door.
At the end of a long day of decluttering, the lady helping me discovered an antique book at the bottom of a box of old papers. “Keep or toss, Berta?” she hollered. “The cover’s really cool.” When I walked over to where she was working, I discovered you can judge a book by its cover. The brown, embossed leather was lovely, and its raised, gold letters said Goldsmith. I knew it was meant for Scott Goldsmith, a photojournalist for the Guideposts family of publications. Scott’s name is synonymous with heart and excellence, echoing Proverbs 22:1 (NIV): “A good name is more desirable than great riches. . .”
When I was working as a nurse, Rita from Human Resources moved into the office next to mine. Talk about upgrading the neighborhood! I was having a lot of health issues then, and she knew of some changes that would enhance my retirement income. More than that, she became my friend. While decluttering, I discovered a teensy, blue-and-white enamel mesh bag, like the ones Rita collects. It seemed to have an untold story: Rita’s! Inside I tucked a note: “What you’ve given me can’t be stowed in any purse.” An object destined for Goodwill was now sending good will.
Life takes some heartwarming turns, especially when Guideposts readers are in the mix. While marveling over my “novel” approach to decluttering, I heard from a man in Aledo, Illinois, who was doing the very same thing. Nearing the end of his earthly journey, Randy sorted through his own stuff. “I can send everything to an estate sale but Grandma Nellie’s peanut cactus,” he told me. The start of that cactus had been her Mother’s Day gift back in 1919. As a kid, Randy used to carry it up and down the basement stairs for Grandma. One year it boasted 348 orange blossoms.
A succulent with a story. Who could resist?
Randy turned the drudgery of decluttering into an art form. He wanted Grandma Nellie’s prized plant to continue blooming in every state across America. Randy asked me to carry on the tradition in West Virginia. When I removed the prickly green start of his peanut cactus from the small Ziploc bag, I was filled with the joy of a brand new start.
That’s what our stories do. They are the shortest distance between two hearts. When combined with a heart’s treasure, they are a magic-making link to one other.
