On Getting Rid of Old Skirts, Old Hurts, and Other Things That No Longer Serve a Purpose
Every month we go through the store, department by department, and pull the items that are due to expire soon. Today I was tasked with Antacids and Laxatives. As I went through the various items, checking their ‘Best By’ dates, I got to thinking about life, and getting rid of the things that no longer serve a purpose.
Like certain clothes in my closet. I’ve picked up some cute things on my thrifting and yard sale adventures this summer. Before my closet gets overstuffed, I need to go through and make some decisions. I’m pretty good at that, mostly. I’ll keep the things I need and those I love and get rid of the rest. But my hands hover over certain items every time. Like one particular skirt, a gauzy, turquoise thing with in your face gold and purple flowers and a string tie with little brass bells sewn on the ends.
Do I need it? Nope.
Will I wear it again? Never.
Do I love it? Yeah, I do. But not for the pattern or the fit. It’s two sizes too small and a decade out of style. I love it for the memory of the day I bought it – when my sisters and I had an amazing girl’s day at the Wharf District in Ashtabula one year.
I have photos of that day. Why do I need to hang onto this ugly skirt?
I also need to go through the closet of my heart. Sometimes I’m surprised at the old hurts hanging out in there that I thought I’d gotten rid of. Maybe I just buried them and forgot them for awhile. It won’t be easy, but I will have to address them one by one, prayerfully acknowledge them, and let them go. Yes, X did this. Yes, Y said that. Yes, it hurt. But it taught me a valuable lesson. Thank you, and goodbye. Those memories no longer serve me. They never did.
I’m going to be doing a deep clean over the next few weeks. There are burdens I no longer wish to carry. Stories I no longer want to write. Puzzles I have no interest in putting together.
Like that guy in my checkout line a few months ago that I had that fabulous discussion with about a book we’d both read, and about how it was growing up in the 70’s. The one who said we should have lunch sometime. That offer’s past its Best By date. He’s not going to call. And that’s OK. It doesn’t mean I’m not interesting enough to take to lunch. It doesn’t mean anything at all.
And like the remorse I feel whenever I think about all of the things I should have done differently in life — or shouldn’t have done at all. I am no longer going to beat myself up, or retrieve those things from the foot of the cross where I left them. Any more than I would root around in our dumpster at work to retrieve our outdated antacids and laxatives. God has forgiven me. It’s time I forgave myself.
Because life is heavy enough without carrying around outdated baggage.
