Tuesday, July 07, 2015
Sixteen years ago we moved into inner city East Dallas.
And, we brought lots of stuff! In fact, I built a garage to accommodate my junk. My cars can't fit into my garage due to the junk!
Since our move, both of my parents died, which added all of their stuff to all of the stuff that Brenda's parents left behind when they crossed over.
Get the picture? Lots of stuff.
But, back to my hours in the attic.
I've been trying to sort, stack, box and clean. And actually, I've been a bit morbid in a good way. I'm doing the downsizing (lots of stuff going to the CitySquare Thrift Store!) for the sake of my children and their children. If I can get it organized, surely it will be easier for them to throw most of it away when my time comes.
Cleaning attics is therapeutic. It's like counseling on steroids.
I've dug up so many memories, of so many people who were so good to me, with few exceptions.
My wonderful, magical, beautiful, fascinating, thrilling grandchildren!
So many memories, all encased in an attic.
Most of my stuff is junk.
Lots of it has been fried by the Texas heat.
But nothing erases the blessings or the wealth of my life captured in my junk!
I'm a privileged man due to nothing that I've done.
Grace. Pure grace explains my entire existence.
If you've ever cleared out an attic or a storage bin, you know what I mean.
Surely, this experience should prepare me for more significance in living, however long I have left on this side.