So about number three<\/em>: there is a lot of love there, and frankly, when this question was presented at one point:\u00a0If you had to be stuck with someone on a\u00a0deserted island for one year\u00a0of your life, who would it be? \u00a0<\/em>I chose him.<\/p>\n And\u00a0he chose Bono. \u00a0 So I changed my answer, of course.<\/p>\n True love, folks.<\/p>\n So as much fun as we have together, working through projects is not our forte. \u00a0God brought together two opposites to do life and ministry, and I’m quite certain that watching us tackle a task is nothing short of comical. \u00a0When it came to setting up the sale, \u00a0I wanted to get the stuff spread out, and my husband wanted to categorize it. \u00a0I wanted to just do, and he wanted to plan.<\/p>\n I don’t get planners. \u00a0I never have. \u00a0I just “do” when something needs to be done and usually give very little thought to the actual process (which could be why bookshelves I’ve put together have holes in them and rooms I’ve painted have paint-splattered baseboards. \u00a0It could<\/em> be why). \u00a0If it seems like a good idea…I go for it. \u00a0If it seems like a good idea…my husband considers it. \u00a0We’ve often said that if he were the only parent, our kids wouldn’t have much fun, but if I were the only parent, our kids would die. \u00a0So, we’re basically good for each other. \u00a0And the world needs both kinds.<\/p>\n And about the first lesson: \u00a0<\/em>We have not purged enough over the years, there’s little doubt about that, but some of what we were selling at this garage sale belonged to my mom. \u00a0Shorty after she went to heaven, my sisters and I spent significant time going through her things deciding what was trash and what was treasure. \u00a0For those who haven’t gone through this process, it’s emotionally draining but can also be rather entertaining. \u00a0 Basically everything is justified as a treasure – mom’s diplomas, her high school love letters, her spoons and forks, and all the things I made fun of mom for owning (like numerous tall, gaudy goblets).\u00a0\u00a0Since I’m the only sibling who lived in town with mom, many of these “treasures” found their way to my home where they remained\u00a0until I decided I just didn’t have room for things like numerous tall, gaudy goblets. \u00a0So the goblets, along with several other items from moms that I didn’t have the space to store, went into the garage sale.<\/p>\n A friend asked me if I would be OK selling some of mom’s things. \u00a0“Totally,” was my answer. \u00a0My sisters and I kept what was significant to us,\u00a0so I was totally fine selling everything else. \u00a0Totally fine.<\/p>\n Which is why I had two emotional break downs during our garage sale. \u00a0The first was tied to the numerous tall, gaudy goblets. \u00a0A women asked if she could have them\u00a0for half of the marked \u00a0price. \u00a0And that was the\u00a0wrong question. \u00a0<\/em>Was she prepared for the detailed description of how many christmases those goblets sat around my mom’s table? \u00a0Probably not. \u00a0Did she anticipate my unsolicited advice on what drink to put into the tall, gaudy goblets? \u00a0My guess is no. \u00a0She looked a little confused (I have no earthly idea why), which is probably what led to her subsequent question: \u00a0“Do you really want to sell these?”<\/em><\/p>\n Totally. \u00a0I told myself I was “totally fine” while I rolled up each goblet with newspaper. \u00a0I told myself I was “totally fine” when I collected the women’s money and told her through blurred eyes\u00a0to take good care of the goblets.<\/p>\n For the love of tall, gaudy goblets.<\/p>\n While\u00a0I pulled myself together rather quickly, I could feel the emotions bubbling, and I knew my husband could sense them beginning to boil as well. \u00a0It’s the same kind of sense that a dog has when a storm is coming and begins showing signs of concern and fear.<\/p>\n Yes, I just compared my husband’s intuitions to that of a dog, but he also chose a year on an island with Bono. \u00a0So, that’s pretty much fair.<\/p>\n The\u00a0reality is that he can sense my emotional storms. \u00a0If you have intuitive husbands, you may know what I’m talking about. \u00a0The goblet questioning was the warning sign, and the selling of my mom’s table was the ensuing storm.<\/p>\n It was a marble table that had been in my mom’s house for as long as I can remember. \u00a0I just didn’t have room for it and my sisters were OK getting rid of it. \u00a0So I was totally fine selling it. \u00a0Totally fine.<\/p>\n We exchanged the money with a gentleman who let\u00a0us know he’d be back shortly with his van. \u00a0All was good until we picked up the marble top and I noticed the writing on the underside of the marble: \u00a0 John O. Buswell, New York City.<\/em>\u00a0 It was the name of my great-grandfather and the city where he lived when he was a young man.<\/p>\n I’m not entirely sure that my family knew how to react when the emotional storm rolled in – hug her, pat her on the back, tell her “it’s OK,” sing to her….admit her….were all considerations when I yelled out through unexpected tears: \u00a0“That’s my great-grandpa’s name!” and followed the table to the truck like a two year old running after her mom. \u00a0Not quite understanding myself what my problem was, I began handing out bits of information about my family while the man put the table in the back of his van. \u00a0Because why wouldn’t he want to know about a total stranger’s\u00a0mom who passed away, and about her goblets, and about my great-grandfather who lived in \u00a0New York for a period of time. \u00a0Every bit of information that came to mind that I felt might be pertinent, just made my existence at the back of this man’s van more and more awkward.<\/p>\n My younger two stood in the street with me while he pulled away. \u00a0And then I said this to my daughter: \u00a0“Run after that van.” \u00a0To which she responded: \u00a0“Now?”<\/p>\n Now?! \u00a0Was she seriously going to chase it? \u00a0And did I seriously ask her to chase it? \u00a0Yes, folks. \u00a0Yes, I did. \u00a0And I do think she would have gone after that van had I not responded with: \u00a0“No, it’s OK. \u00a0I got the license plate number.”<\/p>\n I mentally noted the license plate number. \u00a0I mentally noted the license plate number.<\/em><\/p>\n Good. \u00a0Grief. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n And I’d like to say that once I came out of my FBI movie and back into the reality of my garage sale, that I was able to pull myself together.<\/p>\n I mean, can you blame him for wanting to spend a year with Bono? \u00a0At times I think not.<\/p>\n I let my tears flow while I sat on the living room floor and tried to sort through my restlessness that I knew was much more extensive than the sale of this table.\u00a0\u00a0Why on earth did I make a mental note of this man’s\u00a0license\u00a0plate number? \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n My youngest, who would have gladly chased down that van had I not devised the\u00a0better plan of noting license plates, came inside and plopped down on the carpet next to me. \u00a0She handed me a card without saying anything. \u00a0On the front of the card there was a woman spewing tears everywhere.<\/p>\n She had it pretty right on – crazy woman look and all. \u00a0In fact, I told my daughter several weeks later that I was reflecting on the\u00a0table incident, and she sighed deeply saying, \u00a0“Oh, great. \u00a0Are you gonna do that crying again?”<\/p>\n But then on the inside of her card was a picture of the table and it said: “It is gone, but it will be in your heart forever.” \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n “Mom, you can always remember what that table looked like. \u00a0So, don’t be sad. \u00a0And we also have his license plate. \u00a0Right?”<\/p>\n Her statement. \u00a0If ever there was a better picture of God’s abundant grace in the midst of messing up my kid.<\/p>\n There’s no doubt that the table in many ways represented the enormous loss of mom, dad, and even my grandfather who passed away a month after mom. \u00a0But it was also a strange and inexplicable longing of all that is temporal. \u00a0There is crazy satisfaction in keeping all that I have been given in the control of my space and my care – everything from my possessions, to my jobs, my health, and even my kids. \u00a0When I can control these things, when I can keep them around and well enough to satisfy my anxiety, my emptiness, and my longing, it’s pretty fulfilling.<\/p>\n But it’s not lasting. \u00a0None of it is. \u00a0Stuff gets sold (and license plates become memorized), jobs come and go, our health is unpredictable no matter how hard we try, and one slip off their bike or a bad day at school because of bullies, and we’re reminded that we are not in control of our kids. \u00a0They don’t ultimately belong to us. \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n But because of the promise of the gospel, because of Jesus, none of this results in despair. \u00a0Because of Jesus who holds all things and loved ones in His hand, we don’t despair. \u00a0Because His steadfast love does not dwindle, we don’t despair. \u00a0 Because\u00a0God, the creator of all of this – all of this<\/em> – remains on his throne in the midst of\u00a0seemingly hopeless political climates, we don’t despair. \u00a0Because the Lord loves righteousness and brings justice, even when it seems that injustice wins and the unrighteous prosper, we don’t despair. \u00a0Because the gospel brings peace into the world when violence permeates our society, we don’t despair. \u00a0He has not moved and He cannot be shaken. \u00a0We don’t despair because God is God and He is Sovereign. \u00a0We don’t despair because He not only knows what tomorrow will bring, He has allowed it, ordained it, and is King over it. \u00a0Despair cannot be found between the lines when Jesus remains the same yesterday, today, and forever, but peace surfaces when we hold fast to these truths.<\/p>\n “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” \u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n We feel loss deeply, as we ought. \u00a0We were made to grieve brokenness, change, and all that slips through our grip, as tight as that hold may be. \u00a0But we can confidently hold fast to the Words God has spoken without fear of them changing and with joy in the hope they give. \u00a0In His word\u00a0we find the promise of eternity; we find\u00a0hope, security, peace, and longing for all that is to come.<\/p>\n Jesus, come quickly that all may be restored again, including our own brokenness in believing that we are “totally fine” in our restlessness, filling the disquiet in our lives with all that doesn’t\u00a0ultimately satisfy.<\/p>\n About that second lesson of being restless for a long time: \u00a0<\/em>the Lord will use anything and everything to refocus and remind us where our security ultimately reigns.<\/p>\n Grace. \u00a0<\/em><\/strong>That marble table has become far more significant than it ever would have been sitting in my living room.<\/p>\n And I can’t remember the license plate number anymore. \u00a0It’s gone.<\/p>\n And\u00a0my restlessness left with it. \u00a0<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n “<\/strong>Our hearts are restless until they find rest in Thee.”<\/strong> <\/em><\/p>\n (Augustine, Confessions). <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" We had a huge garage sale several weeks ago. \u00a0 And I learned three\u00a0unrelated lessons during this huge garage sale: … <\/p>\n![\"IMG_3019\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katiepolski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/IMG_3019.jpg?resize=182%2C137&ssl=1\")
<\/p>\n![\"FullSizeRender\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katiepolski.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/FullSizeRender.jpg?resize=240%2C320&ssl=1\")
<\/p>\n<\/del><\/del>But, no. \u00a0I stomped through the garage and blamed my husband through my tears. \u00a0Because, of course, my table despair, the table that I\u00a0<\/em>decided to sell,\u00a0was somehow his fault. \u00a0I might as well have gone into my Italian Mob voice pulling my husband by the collar saying: \u00a0“I got his\u00a0license, and\u00a0<\/em>I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” \u00a0<\/em>The scene was pretty much that ridiculous. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n