The Stuff We Keep
Shortly after our parents passed away and we went through the process of disposing of their belongings, my husband and I watched many of our friends go through the experience. We’re at That Age. It’s never easy to sift through someone else’s lifetime collection of Stuff and decide what’s worth keeping, what should be trashed, and what someone else might find useful or interesting.
It didn’t take long to realize that most of our Stuff will have little or no meaning to our children. The expensive china and crystal place settings that every bride in my generation carefully chose? Not much use in this casual day and age. The piano we forced our kids to learn to play? Too heavy, takes up too much room, and who needs it in this era of digital music at the touch of a finger? The photos of grandparents and other relatives? Maybe…if they’re scanned and kept in a digital file, though it’s tough to write names on the back of a digital photo. And without names, the photos mean nothing.
The whole process inspired the idea for my WIP (work-in-progress) and has made me more aware of how much Stuff I keep…and buy. Will this be something my kids end up throwing away?
Three Kinds of Keepers
It has also made me think about what gives value or worth to the things we hold onto. Sometimes we keep something “just in case we might need it.” (Like the cardboardboxes in my utility room.) Other things we keep in the belief we’ll take the time to enjoy them when life settles down. (All those piano music books.) Still other things are kept forthe memories they hold.
I admit I’m a little of all , but primarily a memory keeper. The yellow pitcher that held Kool-Aid on hot summer days when I was growing up, even though it’s now cracked and useless.
The stuffed dog I received for my fifth birthday that comforted me throughout my youth.
The treadle sewing stand that belonged to my grandmother, even though it’s missing the sewing machine.
How about you? Are you a practical just-in-case keeper? A hopeful “maybe later” keeper? Or a sentimental memory keeper?
Leave a comment and let me know what gives worth to the things you keep.
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A Harsh Editor
In my first job out of college, I was responsible for writing the monthly newsletter for a hunger organization. On my first 
attempt, I took my work into my supervisor’s office for her approval. Sister Pearl, a nun, took out her red pen and slashed my words to pieces, crossing out sections, drawing arrows to move sentences around, replacing words here and there. When she finished, there was more red ink on the page than black. I left her office blinking back tears and thinking, “Why doesn’t she just write it herself?”
The next month, the red ink decreased a bit, and it continued that way until I realized Sister Pearl’s corrections had diminished to minor changes. Surprisingly—to me, at least—people started telling me they really enjoyed reading the newsletter. Then they’d ask if I had ever written for publication. A couple of co-workers often encouraged me to try publishing, so when I became a stay-at-home mom, I pursued writing in earnest.
Years later, when I began writing fiction and became involved in a critique group, I had very little trouble accepting the criticism. The memory of Sister Pearl and her red pen made me think I could handle just about anything.
A Worse Critic
Fast forward several years to my first writing contest. I’d entered the fifteen pages of my debut novel, not really expecting to win or even place. But when I opened the envelope with the score sheets from the three judges, I was pleasantly surprised to see two judges had scored me in the 70’s and 80’s out of 100. My third score was 49. What? I had no real argument with that judge’s comments. But scoring 2 out 5 in categories like grammar, and structure, and word choices? By this time, I published articles in several magazines. I believed I had a good grasp of those aspects of writing, and certainly didn’t deserve such low scores.
Discouraged, I almost skipped my local critique group. But I told myself these were trusted friends who may be blunt in their honesty, but they’re never unkind. Still, when they discussed my work, I again fought back tears. “I can’t do this,” I thought. “I just can’t do this.” I’d lost my confidence.
The next day, after crying out to the Lord for some time, I felt the Spirit telling me to “go home, play with your dog, read for fun, do the things you enjoy. It’ll be all right.” So I did. I put the manuscript in a drawer and let my writing friends know they wouldn’t be seeing anything from me for a while. How long? Who knows.
Recovery
Three months later, another packet arrived in the mail—judges’ sheets from a second contest I forgot I’d entered. Not wanting to go through all those emotions again, I held the unopened envelope over the wastebasket ready to drop it in. But something stopped me. The damage has already been done. How much worse can it get?
The scores were comparable to the first contest—two high, one low—but this time, the low-scoring judge’s comments started out with, “You’re a good writer.” The rest told me exactly what didn’t work in the scene I’d entered, and the light came on.
Ooohh! I get it! Of course! Duh!
I dug out that manuscript and went to work on the necessary changes.
So what’s the Moral of this Story?
Sister Pearl thickened my skin, but I’m not bullet-proof. Even well-intentioned criticism can hurt, discourage and destroy one’s confidence. When that happens, it’s okay to step back, relax, gain some distance and perspective. Trust God to make it right in His perfect timing.
And always, ALWAYS, sandwich criticism between compliments.
Do you recall a time when criticism destroyed your confidence? Leave a comment and tell us how you overcame it or what you learned from it.
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