My mom and sisters love rummage sales.
Every Saturday morning is considered rummage sale time and the journey from garage to garage begins. The bargains are hunted for, found and then shown off in the afternoon. They take great delight in being complimented on their clothes and then having the opportunity to say, “all together, this outfit cost me $1.75.”
I will sometimes be reminded that rummage sales are good indicators of the changing trends of our culture. Whenever there is some new gadget or kitchen utensil I think would make my life easier, my mother will remind me, “just wait until next year and I’ll pick one up for you at a rummage sale.”
I hate to admit it, but she is usually right. I actually use that as an excuse when I want to talk myself out of buying something, or when the late night infomercial temptations begin.
“Yes,” I tell myself in the wee hours of the morning, “that rotisserie grill would be nice, but mom can get me one next year at a rummage sale.” That little bit of wisdom has, to date, kept my counter clear of Ginsu knives and vacuum sealers. Of course, I rarely ask her to look for those things at the sale she goes to. After a while, I figure if I’ve lived that long without it, I can go a bit longer.
And now, being spring, we are right in the middle of rummage sale time. Everyone seems to be cleaning out their basements, garages and attics and moving their stuff into the front yard. As I drive through town, there seems to be a sale on every block and the customers are out, sorting through clothes and old albums, unused exercise equipment and potholders.
I suppose it is genetically hard wired into my brain to want to go to a rummage sale, but I resist the urge to pull over and start looking through things. I know I would find something I could not live without (although the person selling it has managed to find a way) and then I would have just one more thing in my room.
Although I usually do not stop, the very existence of rummage sales fascinates me because I find the concept to be foreign to the midwestern way of thinking. I tend to think we are a people who do not live our lives out in the open; we do not share easily or let others know our business.
Yet, when the weather is nice and spring is in the air, we take all the things we have hidden in our homes and put them in the front yard and our neighbors come and sort through our stuff. By the end, they know what we like to wear, what we like to listen to and sometimes how long it has been since we fired up the fondue pot.
We know that people will discover a great deal about us as they move through our things, but we have managed to suppress our natural tendency towards reticence for the sake of a good sale. All in all, it is probably a better reason than revealing everything for a few minutes fame on “The Jerry Springer Show.”
But there can be an even better reason than a successful weekend’s sale. There is the fullness of life. A tendency towards living a hidden life may very well be presented as desirable, but in the end, we can find ourselves lonely and isolated even from those who love us. We can end up feeling that no one understands us, or knows who we are; and this is coupled with an inability to do anything about it.
Living life, living life to its fullest, has a great deal to do with the risk-taking involved in sharing who we are with another. We are called to a certain level of vulnerability in our lives. So often, the fear of being hurt, or the wounds from the past, lead us to hide the best gift we have to offer, the gift of ourselves.
That gift is hidden from those who are closest to us, those who need our love, our affirmation and our strength.
We can also hide that gift from God. It is always a good idea, especially as a preparation for the fire of Pentecost, to examine how deeply we offer our lives to God in prayer. It is easy, all too easy, to allow the words we use in prayer to be written by another. While using the prayers of our tradition is good, we also need to remember to share our lives, to make ourselves open to the presence of God.
We need to be reminded that what God desires from us is the gift of ourselves, our love, our wants and needs, our fears and pains. He heals us, brings us peace as we make ourselves vulnerable in his presence.
Let the sales of the season be a good Easter reminder. When you see the signs and the tables set up in the yards, ask yourself how you are being open, how you are living the fullness of life. Let it remind you to tell those close to you that you love them, tell them what you are thinking, what you are feeling, share with them the depths you may prefer to keep hidden.
And tell these things to God, everyday.