Last Times

This past week I finally took the time to move a wall full of junk in the garage so I could attend to a water leak. What was supposed to be an hour project ended up taking several days of clean up and the services of a plumber. It's not even over because an entire wall will need sheet rock. Looking on the bright side, it helped me begin the task of purging and reorganizing life.

The garbage collectors hauled away several industrial sized bags of mere trash. And, to my great sadness, four items I never intended to part with.

In 1996 I founded Giggles and Glamour. It was a dress up and tea party business. It combined everything I loved:  little girls, sewing, dress up clothes, sparkles, shopping, laughter, people, and serving others. I sold my creations at craft shows during the Fall. Year round, I loaded up my beat up blue suburban with tea party equipment and delivered and set up parties for little girls all over DFW. I was named by a dear friend who said, "You make little girls into Cinderella every weekend. You ARE the Fairy Godmother of DFW!"

My tea parties were exquisite. Everything, from the dresses to the name card holders, was child sized. I bought every child sized chair I ever found at a garage sale or thrift store. I fashioned chair slipcovers with giant tulle bows from a fabulous rose print fabric that was truly wrinkle free. Finding tables that were durable, portable, and large enough was vastly more challenging. I finally found some particle wood tables from a catalog. With the patient help of my Dad, I cut them down to size, painted them white so that they'd look better with the plastic Battenburg lace tablecloths I'd bought. (It sounds way tackier than it was. They are surprisingly plastic!) Those were the two primary tables that helped hundreds of little girls celebrate being female for many, many years. I'd venture to say that I've easily assembled those tables at least 350 times. I cannot even recall when I set up the table the last time.

When I rolled away the larger item covering the tea party table tops, I could instantly see that the tables were swollen with water and mildew. I'm rarely reduced to instant tears. This was an exception. Tears streaming down my cheeks, I rolled each one individually, an efficiency trick I'd learned a long time ago, out to the alley for Friday's garbage collection. The hoarder in me was tempted to keep the bases to the tables. They were unscathed. My inner sage simply said, "It's time to let go."

I began thinking about the garbage man or the dumpster diver that frequents my alley. They'd have no sense of the loss involved for me with their dutiful collection of my tables. They'd never know or care about the miles the tables have traversed or the importance of those tables to help pay bills and buy meals during a very lean period of life for the Clarks. They would never give thought to the last time the tables helped bring joy and laughter into the lives of little girls--so many of those little girls now in college, like Molly and Hayley. They would never know about beautiful Paige.

I'll never forget watching four year old Paige in her spectacular pink princess dress. I made it and gave it to her for that special party. It had yards and yards of tulle and a bodice of pink lame. She was royalty. Only the people attending would know that her body could not withstand the cancer within.  We pulled out all the stops to host a perfect party for her. We even talked about doing another one because it had been so spectacular. More importantly, Paige was so happy. Looking back now, I think we all knew something that we couldn't admit that day. Paige would never attend another tea party. Ever.

What held her family and friends together? Grace. What allowed us to laugh and smile and enjoy a perfect Spring afternoon? Grace.

Grace allows us to be fully present in the moment knowing we live with the very real possibility that this will be the last time. Endings remind us that it was grace that held us when we unknowingly made up a child's bed, cooked a meal for a spouse, hugged a beloved teacher, or stroked a pet's fur for the last time.

Grace is always present. She appears in the last times of things that might not seem meaningful or important to someone without our personal knowledge--even to us at times. I can't even remember the last time I loaded up those tea party tables and assembled them. I never considered it was my last time because my intent was to keep them, well, forever. My forever was interrupted.

Forever, is terrifying outside of grace. Grace is forever, and that in the midst of sadness brings me enduring hope--hope that can help me complete the most mundane of tasks. Hope that by washing the clothes and putting them away my child will have a good life. Hope that she will one day lovingly care for others despite the commitment to monotony that it requires. Hope of eternity helps me manage the knot that gets bundled up in my throat every time I hug my 98 year old Memo goodbye. I could choose fear. I've done so unsuccessfully so many times. I'll admit openly that I'll do it again too--maybe even tonight. For this moment, I choose grace. Only because of  grace do I get to make that choice. What a marvelous conundrum.

Today I'll cherish each moment for what it is. I'll be grateful for the gift of life and love. I"ll embrace the loss that comes with loving. Grace makes it all possible. I do long for the day when there are no more tears and no more sorrow. I welcome the last apology needed, the last divorce decree signed, the last buried pet, and the last load of laundry ever needing folding. Even so, Lord, come.