by: Staci Stallings
Quick personal note: For those who don’t know, my older brother committed suicide in 2007. Afterward, in trying to process everything and figure out where this new reality left me, I wrote a series of things I remembered—about him, about growing up, about us, and about life. This is one of those pieces.
I think the most ironic symbol I saw during the weekend of my brother’s death had to be the mailbox. Now their mailbox is not one of those flimsy little things on a dinky little post. No. This was a mailbox, encased in brick from top to bottom, front to back. It stood on the edge of the inside of their property solid and unshakable. But then sometime just around his death, a buddy of his son ran into it, and poof! Unshakable proved not so unshakable after all.
About three bricks from the concrete base, the brick-encased mailbox separated, and the top 3/4s of it fell over. When we pulled up to the house on Friday, there lay the mailbox—bricks strewn everywhere. My very first thought was “that must have happened after he died because he would never have allowed his mailbox to be laying there like that.”
Then the irony began to sink in. Bumper-to-bumper the cars lined the driveway and street in both directions, and bunch-by-bunch the people continued to come. At one point I walked into their living room and found 30 people standing around who I didn’t even know. They were friends from the town where they now lived, mechanics, church friends, teammates. All had come to convey their sympathy, to bring food or just hugs. And not one of them said, “Man, that mailbox out front is a mess.”
The next day brought more guests, more friends, more family. People had come from Dallas, Houston, Cincinnati, Chicago, Kansas. They too came to hug, to help, to love.
In his last days, my brother would’ve been mortified for all these people to come to his house. Had they thrown a party, they would’ve worked for weeks to get everything “just right.” And yet here we all were, walking about in his house, talking, hugging, loving, and not one person mentioned the mailbox. I said that to one of his friends who made the trek from my hometown which was 60 miles away. “He wanted everything to be so perfect, and he thought we couldn’t love him if it wasn’t, yet here we all are because we love him even though everything is not perfect.”
When my own “everything’s got to be perfect for anyone to come” syndrome snapped in half a couple years ago, I invited three of my best friends over just for a few hours of talking and visiting. My husband came home, and upon finding out we were going to have guests, flipped out. He was washing dishes and straightening things like I’ve never seen him do before or since. “They can’t see the house like this. What will they think?”
“They will think I love them enough to want to spend time with them. Trust me, they know I’m not perfect, and they don’t expect me to be.” Shortly after arriving, I told one of my friends about this conversation, and she said, “I don’t care about your house. I just want to spend some time with you.”
See, the reality is, those who love you just want to spend some time with you. The truth was and is, we didn’t care about the mailbox. We never did. We still don’t. All we want is to spend some time together.
Get that now. Really get it and live it. It will change your life.
*~*~*
Allison Prescott has secrets. Secrets that are tearing her and her family apart.
Can a wild “Go Bananas” T-shirt wearing guy give her the courage to live anyway…. especially when he has secrets of his own?
“I really enjoy Staci Stallings book’s full of true to life heart ache and Bible truths brought out in ways you wouldn’t expect. God loves each one of us and has created us and if he trust and believe in him all things are possible.”
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Thank you for sharing this Staci. I used to be in the very same mindset.I had to have everything “just so: before I invited people over to visit. But then when I had major surgery along with other setbacks, I learned my friends would not only come but they would help me straighten my house.
Hugs, Staci. This need to be perceived perfect – that has to come from the father of lies. So guilty here, too.
Staci, I’m so sorry for the pain your family experienced. My family also survived the aftermath of a suicide and your words couldn’t be more on point. Those who love you don’t care if your house is clean, if you don’t get straight A’s, if you had a fender bender. I look forward to reading your book.
Hugs, Staci. Very true and wise. Your posts always move me to tears.
first of all, i’m sorry to hear about your brother. thank you for sharing the events, and your heart. i’ve struggled in the past with perfectionism and i know it’s a cruel taskmaster. i now am fighting RA and don’t have the stamina to keep my house as i’d like it. yet, people still come to see me. i still get that sense of feeling embarrassed, but not the urge to “cyclone clean” the house just so it’s perfect long enough for someone to see it.
True friends don’t care about the house… they care about YOU!
Oh, yeah. I lived in those lies for far too long. Glad my Father didn’t give up on me!
I’m so sorry for your loss as well, Jill. Although it is a “club” I never would have chosen to be in, it has taught me compassion and love on a level I never knew existed.
Sometimes happy ones, I hope, Autumn! :)
Surface and image are two of the biggest emotional traps on the planet for those who seek to be good. I believe God’s form of perfect has nothing to do with image and everything to do with your heart. Work on that, let God work on that, and you will be far closer to perfection than if everything is dusted.
Just spent the day ‘starting’ to get ready for company coming next week. This was a message I needed to hear! Thanks for sharing.
You’re welcome, Diane!
I sure liked your post! So so sorry to hear that you lost your brother though!!
Staci, thank you for sharing about your brother. I’m sure it’s not easy to think about or talk about. I know God will walk with you everyday and help comfort you.
I also know we don’t have to be perfect to be loved! God loves us just as we are, scripture confirms it over and over again. In my ugliest, messiest, and unloving state He’s still there with me. Every day I feel His presence and know that I could never go too far where He didn’t know where I was. What a comfort & joy that is :-)
Thanks, Linda. I’ve learned that you do come to a “new normal,” but you never really “get over it.”
God IS hope, and joy and love. When we can learn to rest in that, life becomes much more doable.