Minimalism: The Papers of the Past
When my paternal grandmother Alice died, she left behind an extensive library. It broke my heart to think of all those books being discarded. Most were in Arabic, the ancient paper curling and yellow from the desert sun creeping in the windows. I wanted to fly them all back home to the U.S. and hug them, hug Teta through them.Sometimes I think of that when I look at my library. One day I will die. Who will adopt my precious treasures? Who will travel the worlds I have traveled and learn the wisdom I have gleaned? Will anyone know to stand really close and breathe the books in, the oxygen of a well-examined life? Will anyone hug one and sob for characters heartbroken and dying and think "The bell tolls for me"? Maybe they'll be scattered across the country in thrift shops until a really sharp eye picks them up and opens to themselves life, the universe, and everything.But my papers are another thing. They are of no use to anyone. They are simply mementos of the past, symbolic of the girl I was then (whenever then happens to be). Will my daughter or son ever stumble across an old college paper with interest? Unlikely. Especially not as jumbled as the papers are, shoved into Rubbermaid tubs.
As you may know by now, for Lent, I'm giving up stuff. Lots of stuff. As much stuff as I can bear to part with. Last week, I went through my wedding and hostess gifts and gave away everything I knew didn't fit with who I am this year.This week, I tackled (and am still tackling) the mass of papers I have acquired through my teen and college years and beyond--as a high school student, as a college student, as a church servant, as an English teacher, as a photographer, and as a mother. With every paper, there was a prayer. A prayer of thanksgiving, a prayer for protection, a prayer for inspiration, a prayer for direction.I have papers from old church activities--as if I would ever repeat myself! It's hard to toss out the first binder I made for a Sunday school class. It's hard to toss out the 25 extra copies of a Sunday school literary magazine the kids and I slaved over one summer. When I recycle all but three, I think to myself, "Why are you keeping three, Laura? Why not just one?" But I can only bring myself to put one more in the toss pile. [Lord, help me to serve wholeheartedly the way I did in my youth. Help me keep the fire to serve You stoked in my heart.]I have old Lent devotionals from the Lutheran church where I was the office manager. "One day, I'll make a Lenten devotional for the Coptic Orthodox Church!" That one day is still not this year... to the recycling bin they go. [Lord, thank You for that incredible job and those wonderful people. If You want me to make a Lenten devotional, You're going to have to speak up.]At one point, I found photocopied pages on classroom management from my teaching days that were so good I was struggling to recycle them. Finally I said, "Maybe I can just buy the book." I googled it and said to Abouna, "That cover looks really familiar," and there it was already on my shelf. [Lord, should I go back to teaching? Those children. Watch over them.]And the poems. The poems the poems the poems. Poems I have written. Poems I have loved. Poems I have shared. Poems others have written for my assessment. A few stray lines of someone's heart on a page. [Yes, Lord, You are awesome!]
I found the Laura who was in a panic about her mother's fourth pregnancy: "What will the new baby be like? Will she hate me?" [Take care of my sister, God]I found the Laura who wrote in self-created code and remembered my father saying, "People only write in code when they're hiding something." I still write in code, baba--HTML :p!I found the Laura who wanted to be a fashion designer and the Laura who wanted to change the world.I found thank you notes from my students and cards from my family.I found art from my daughter's preschool days. [Help her walk in Your way]I found teen Laura, and I loved her, and I couldn't bear to throw all her things away.So I just prune a little more.I don't need every extra copy of whatever it is I once made. One (or two) leftover copies will do. I don't need to save all of my English students' work. That has served its purpose. I don't need every notebook my daughter scribbled through as a toddler. Or maybe you'll have to pry those out of my hands.The papers are still in a tub. One tub. Not three tubs and two boxes. The clean office supplies are neatly set up in the office (excess pens, papers, college-ruled notebooks, sticky notes, and index cards).As I prune, I pray."Lord, I love this little girl. Help me do right by her.""Do you remember this project, God? Help me be that person again.""What is it that you want from me, God? I'm open. Toss it my way when You feel I'm ready.""Thank you for being with me that year, God; it was a hard year."The march to minimalism is seeing some progress.It's slow. It involves a lot of nostalgia. It involves a lot of prayer.But it's coming along....The books aren't going anywhere though. The kids will have to sort them out when I'm gone.
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