One of my favorite things to do with Mama was to get up early on Saturday morning to go sailing. And by sailing, I do not mean that we went out on the water in a boat for a thrilling ride. We did not plot a course and unfurl our sails into the wind. We did not check tides and currents. But we did have adventures. We would scour the newspaper ads the night before and carefully plan the route we would take through the neighborhoods of Winston-Salem. We set alarms and checked the weather. Mama fixed the coffee pot and made sure I had a Diet Coke in the refrigerator. She made sausage biscuits and wrapped them in aluminum foil - ready to eat for breakfast with a dab of yellow mustard. She counted out stacks of quarters and wadded up dollar bills squirreled away for our spending money. For you see, we were very serious about sailing, Mama and me. Yard-sailing.
There was a science to being yard-sailors and Mama was the captain of our crew. I ranked somewhere about deckhand level. We read the ads like navigational charts and plotted a course based on what time they opened, what they listed for sale and what we happened to be looking for at the time. Furniture, dishes, kids toys often topped our list. At just about every sale, there was a cardboard box of books and I almost always bought a couple. Mama also had her rules about what she was willing to pay for something. She was a gentle Southern lady who could haggle like a pirate and the incongruity worked in her favor. If the price wasn't right she'd just walk away since she honestly didn't need one more thing to take home. But we sure did make a few pieces of someone else's trash our treasures on those Saturdays. I bought my first bedroom suite - antique birds-eye maple bed, chester-drawers (IYKYK) and dresser with mirror. I got it for $135. I remember standing there trying to decide if I wanted it when Mama walked up next to me and whispered, "Buy it." I was surprised she wasn't in negotiate-mode so I pulled out my money and paid. When we got in the car to go get a truck to pick it up she told me there was a designer waiting to see if I bought it. The lady told Mama she could sell it to a client for $1500. I don't know about all that but the set remains in the family to this day.
The most memorable yard sale purchase I ever made was this doll I found one Saturday morning. We stopped at a place that wasn't on the itinerary but we were almost done and it was on our way home so we pulled up. Mama was poking around the dishes I imagine - she loved cut glass - and I was likely looking for the book box. I was probably in my 30's by this time so well past toy-days but for some reason this baby doll caught my eye. She was in bad shape; her face, arms and legs made of some composite material that had cracked and crazed. Her cloth body was grey and saggy. She had on what was probably her original dress which was dirty and torn, the fabric disintegrating in spots. Someone had taken a pair of child's dingy white bloomers and secured them with a big safety-pin. They were way too big and came up under the arms. She didn't have any hair and there were some faded red splotches around her face - paint or nail polish maybe? Along the way some little girl had tried to fix her up by wrapping first aid tape around her head. She was a mess. And I had to have her. I headed over to the man standing at the card table with a metal cash box on top and asked how much he wanted for her. He said five dollars and I reached in my back pocket. Mama was at my side by then and whispered in my ear, "Offer him a dollar." I pulled out a five-dollar-bill and handed it over. As we walked to the car, Mama was shaking her head. "I can't believe you paid five dollars for that. What on earth are you gonna do with a doll? You could have got it for a dollar." Truth be told, I had no answers for her. I didn't know why I was compelled to buy the doll, just knew I needed her. I named her Florence thinking the little girl must have grown up to be a nurse. Florence Nightingale - get it? My decorating style at the time was heavy on antiques and primitives so Florence sat on the mantle over the fireplace along with some crockery and butter molds and dried up cotton branches. It was several years before it dawned on me why I was so drawn to her.
I was preparing for a speaking engagement and the topic was the love of God. For some reason, I looked up on the mantel and there was Florence, sitting in the curve of a grapevine wreath like it was a crescent moon. And I thought about how I just knew, standing at that yard sale, she belonged with me - dirty dress, baggy bloomers and all. I didn't care that she had a million cracks and her stuffing wasn't plump or even clean. Her wounds and clumsy bandages didn't make me turn away and leave her sitting alone on that yard sale table. In fact, I was drawn to the imperfection of her. The attempted fix more compelling than a new coat of varnish that would have made her look shiny and new. Her worn out cotton dress more dignified than velvet and lace. Her mess, her majesty. And the reality washed over my heart like a wave, she was me. Florence was me. When God looked at me, he saw every scar and tear - the worn out and missing spots. Every sad endeavor to repair or cover over deep pains and longings. The ill-fitting dingy garments tucked tight and held in place with glaring not-so-safe pins. All the un-healed wounds and inconvenient needs. He saw it all. And he still said, "I'll take her. How much?" And he reached across eternity and slapped the purchase price on a rickety table with dripping palms and shattered bones. The payment ran in rivers down splintery crossed-wood beams and soaked into dusty earth. His lavish offering splashed over my weeping heart and claimed me for his own. And to this day I collapse into the wonder of it - that he would take me on. I just can't get over that - hope I never do.
My style is more minimal these days and Florence isn't part of the decor any more. She rests in a safe place - out of view. But the reminder of her resides heart-deep. I thought about having her restored and making new clothes, but I've kept her the way she was when I first saw her to preserve that memory of choosing beyond understanding and loving beyond reason. I used to wonder if maybe she had value as a collector's item - that I might take her on Antiques Roadshow and find out that she was rare and priceless. But I've never had her appraised. Because I know exactly what she's worth. Five dollars. Because that's the price I paid. And I believe in the depths of my busted-up little heart the same holds true for me. Selah.
How deep the Father's love for us How vast beyond all measure That He should give His only Son To make a wretch His treasure...
- Stuart Townend (How Deep the Father's Love for Us)
"I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with loving-kindness." Jeremiah 31:3
"But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8
"Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed," says the Lord, who has compassion on you." Isaiah 54:10