Whose Stuff is this anyway?

When my daughter was about 9 or 10 years old she went through a nearly bi-polar phase.  On the one hand she loved to dress nice.  Sunday was her favorite day of the week because going to church gave her the occasion to dress in her finest and spend ridiculous amounts of time primping as she dressed to go out.  Everything had to be perfect, from the shoes to every hair on her head.  However, on the other hand her room was a complete and utter shambles.  It seemed that every article of clothing was constantly on the floor. Lonely coat hangers rested on the floor of the closet or hung in isolation.  The bed was never made while toys and books were left where they were when her fancy changed.  Schoolwork was scattered to the four corners of her world.

While far from a neat freak I do have some standards and I wanted to teach basic care for your belongings to my daughter.  I tried every motivation I could think of or find from Dr. Dobson.  I placed a bowl of coins on the dresser and told her that every time I came in the room and found it a mess I would take a coin.  At the end of the week, she could keep all the coins in the bowl.  First trip in I took a quarter.  The second trip in the bowl was turned over and half buried in a pile of clothes.  This child was beyond motivation!

One Sunday afternoon I went into her room and her favorite and most beautiful dress was lying on the floor among all the mess.  I walked over and stood on it and began to wipe my feet on the dress.  When she saw what I was doing she exploded, “Dad, what are you doing?  That is my dress!”

“If you treat it like a rag, I will too!”

“Stop, you’ll ruin it.”

“I have never stepped on your dress while it was hanging up.  If you put things away I couldn’t walk on it.”

“IT IS MY STUFF, why can’t I do what I want?”

“Because none of this is yours.  It is all mine, the bed, the clothes, the books.  It is all mine I just let you use my stuff and live in my house.  I want you to take better care of the stuff I loan you!”

I, being the mature one, got the last word, so I left the room.  Neither of us was especially encouraged or motivated.   Later on I had this uneasy feeling-call it conviction if you will.  It was as if Someone were saying to me,  “None of this stuff is yours, not the house, not the clothes, and not that little girl.”

We are pretty good about identifying when something we feel is ours is not being used or cared for properly.  But we sometimes miss that we are stewards and not owners.  As someone once said, “Take care of your Dad’s stuff.”  When we realize that we are never the owners, it is a great relief.  It also helps us think differently about the things to which we have been given a stewardship.