hoarding?

These past two weeks I have been working on a huge project: preparing for a moving sale. Who is moving? Well, technically, I already moved - to Germany. Now that I've lived there for two years and plan to stay for at least another two, I am coming to grips with the fact that there are lots of things I don't need anymore: Furniture from college that's not worth shipping overseas. Appliances like lamps and a television and a blender that wouldn't work in Europe because of voltage differences. Clothing that I don't wear or doesn't fit anymore because I either gained or lost weight. Books that I haven't cracked the binding on since high school, or earlier.
The frugal side of me says, "This is perfectly good stuff. Don't get rid of it! Hang on to it! Someday you're going to live in America again and if you keep all this, you won't have to buy all new stuff! Smart move!"

The realist side of me says, "You plan to live and serve in Germany as long as possible. Right now there is no concrete time limit to how long you'll be there. Really, when will you take up permanent residence in American again? Let someone else get some good use out of this stuff, and hey, if you can sell it maybe you can even earn a little extra cash to put towards your support funds."

So, I'm putting a TON of stuff up for sale. Most of it is new or very gently used as I only lived on my own for a year before moving to Germany. Sounds easy, right?

Unfortunately, my collection includes more than simple, easy-to-part-with items. I am slightly embarrassed to admit that I have five huges boxes of school memorabilia in storage. When I say school, I mean middle school, high school, and college, and when I say memorabilia I mean class notes, projects, quizzes and tests, drafts, and final drafts of papers. Why I feel the need to keep all of this is beyond me, but every time I open up a box and try to throw some of it away, something stops me.

I also have pictures. Not just an album or two. I probably have ten full photo albums, easily. Plus two scrapbooks and huge stacks of loose pictures - Polaroids, senior pictures from friends, pictures that I hung on the wall in one dorm room or another...

Lately I've been watching the show Hoarders [thank you, Netflix] in order to motivate myself to clear out the clutter and consolidate what I do plan to keep here in America. When asked about their home, a hoarder will often say that every single item in their collection has significance. Every receipt, every ticket stub, every Coke bottle has a memory attached to it, therefore creating an emotional attachment. One young man said that if he were to throw away a [disposable] water bottle from his mom, it would be as if he no longer loved her. Another young lady said that she needed to keep all her receipts so she could remember things, like "when I went on my trip to Boston." At first I laughed at this absurd reasoning. Then, I went through my own things. I found myself going through boxes of things that anyone else would consider trash: ticket stubs to concerts and movies, postcards, handwritten notes, bottle caps... I realized that each item triggered a memory for me. Oh no! I thought. I'm a hoarder too!!

The Casting Crowns ticket stub reminded me of that one day with my Bro/Sis at the beginning of my sophomore year of college - an endless, blissful summer day full of laughter, friends, and fun.

The yellow Post-It note reminded me of the time my first roommate, Sara-Jean, and I won the "Golden Ticket" from two of our brothers, Brant and Tristan, for having the most awesome room on 4West. The ticket entitled us to a trip to Walgreen's, where they bought us Swedish fish, Starbucks Double Shots, and a talking Napoleon Dynamite pen. [I still have that pen here somewhere...]

The Ale-8-One bottle cap reminded me of my senior year of college, when my dear friends Melissa and Drew drove for hours just to visit with me in Indiana for my birthday. And brought me a six-pack of Ale-8!

The receipts from tourist shops in Australia and New Zealand reminded me of the absolutely fantastic Women's Choir and Men's Choir tour that I participated in during my first year of college. I traveled halfway around the world, sang in the Sydney Opera House, got sick on a boat, and discovered lifelong friends who had been right beside me all along.

That little piece of green plastic was my "badge" when I visited the Adler Planetarium with my best friend, Carla. We had made it our goal to hit as many Chicago museums as possible during our last year at Moody, and the Planetarium was the first of many fun museum visits.

I could go on and on. I have a never-ending supply of "stuff." Like the hoarders on TV, I fear that if I throw away that ticket stub or that bottle cap, I will forget about the memory that goes with it. But the thing is, it's just stuff. Kindling, as one pastor put it. I don't need to keep my school papers because if I forget something I learned way back when, there's this cool thing called Google. And I don't need to keep the trinkets and receipts and ticket stubs from every single movie or concert I ever attended, because I still have the memories.

Admittedly, I do fear that I will forget all of the wonderful memories I've made. I've seen so many people lose all recollection of memories, loved ones, and the time of day due to dementia and Alzheimer's, and my deepest fear is that that will happen to me, too. At the same time, though, I don't want to live in the past. As awesome and special as, say, my college years were, I have to remember that those days are behind me now, and that right now I'm making new memories that I will cherish in another five years. There will no doubt come a time when I look back on this season of living adventurously in Europe, teaching middle schoolers and touching the world, and wish I could go back. But of course by that time, I'll be making even more new memories (hopefully with a husband and a house full of kids. or puppies. or both.).
And hey, if all else fails, there's always my collection of journals, where I meticulously documented practically every day of my life for 10+ years... I wish I could say I was kidding, but I'm not.