A Time for Every Purpose

I suppose I'm a bit of a paradox (Jason would probably say in many, many ways), but most of the time I love nothing more than giving and/or throwing things away -- my things, Jason's things, especially Charlie's things.  I can't stand clutter and don't like to clean, so it's always seemed to me the less we own the better.

In fact, we have a hard and fast rule -- no more hangars.  If any of us gets a new shirt or pants or other, we have to put an old one in the donation pile.  I refuse to buy new hangars.

That said, tucked away in the attic I have been treasuring boxes and bins and bags of little boy clothes for over six years.  The collection began as soon as we put away Charlie's newborn clothes, and I added some 5 year old items just today.

At first it was a very practical decision, as having finally been blessed with Charlie we were joyfully expecting more children.  Then as years passed it became a hopeful choice, and eventually more of a talisman...one last prayer that we would add to our family "naturally".

And in truth, I had no thought of breaking into the trove until our pastor's wife posted a simple question on Facebook this morning:

Benjamin is growing like a weed! Anyone have any summer 6 month, or winter 12 month boy clothes?

I immediately thought of our bursting bins and discovered that I'm ready to start parting with the baby clothes.

You see, I realized not long ago that the clothes had ultimately become a matter of pride. I planned to descend upon some destitute or otherwise hapless expectant mother and overwhelm her with years of clothes and toys and blankets...effectively saving the day and becoming the hero.  An idea that started with a desire to bless someone morphed into a self-righteous fairy tale with me as the hero.  It's embarrassing to admit, but true.

So today I responded to the post, took out the bins and am about to finish folding the adorable, sweet memories and load them into bags to deliver to a wonderful mother, who is in no way destitute, but in need of a few onesies, and will surely pass them on herself one day.  No swooping, no heroes, and surprisingly, no tears.

It seems I'm learning to let go of not only unnecessary baggage, but also ungracious dreams...


...practically we are still  holding onto the older things, as we look forward to the next referral, just in case Charlie's prayers are answered and it is a boy (We have had to explain to him that whatever age and sex it is, the child will not be renamed Charlie Jr. -- and no, we won't think about it).