"Goodwill was my mother’s business, somebody else’s business. Goodwill was a bunch of piles."

Larissa Kaye Batten (llbeara@aol.com) writes "Soul Food," a weekly column for SpiritSite.com.  

Larissa is a prolific writer whose work has been featured in several publications.  

You can visit Lara's web site at www.miracleanimalrescue.com (site will open in a new window).

Blue jeans. Green jeans. Black jeans. Any old jeans.

New jeans. Old jeans. Designer jeans. Levi’s jeans. Every jeans.

Mini-mountains of jeans, interspersed with shirts, skirts, and sweaters. Some suede, mostly tee's, all sizes, a boy’s, a girl’s, a father’s, a mother’s.

A family of clothes. For somebody else’s family.

Good will

For Goodwill.

"Whatcha doing mom?" I asked her.

"Getting clothes ready for Goodwill," she said. "Anything you want to add?"

"I dunno," I answered.

"You can go through the piles if you want and see if there’s anything in there you want to keep," she offered.

"No thanks," I replied. Too much work.

After all these years, I still remember the Goodwill piles.

Mounds of extra clothes we outgrew, didn’t wear anymore, never wore, and often forgot about altogether.

We were lucky. We shopped at Bloomingdale’s. When we were much younger, my brother and I made the big trip to the local shoe store to pick out one pair each of new shoes.

But times got better, my parents were generous with their earnings, and we picked out far more than we ever needed.

Alas, along came Goodwill. Or was Goodwill there all along, even when we were too young to notice?

I must admit, I didn’t know anything more about Goodwill than the name. Goodwill was barely a name, anyway. It was an association, an association in my child’s mind of my mother’s business, the piles in the guest bedroom, sprawled across the bed, waiting for delivery.

That was the extent of what I knew. I was busy, you see. I had my own life to think about. Goodwill was my mother’s business, somebody else’s business. Goodwill was a bunch of piles. First they were there, tall and proud and boasting, then gone.

I never knew how they got to where they went, or at least I don’t remember. When they were gone, I could pounce on the guest bed again, read a book there again, or just pass by the guest bedroom doorway and not notice at all.

That is what Goodwill meant to me. Piles and then no piles. With mom a bit too busy in between, while I munched on my gourmet nut assortments, favorite candies, and abundant salads, and occupied myself with books, television, tennis, and the rest of my life.

While other families waited for their new, old clothes.

While Goodwill waited for its deliveries.

While mom went through the closets.

While my brother and I outgrew our rich clothes.

While some kids teased me because of my Guess jeans, back in the days I believed in designers.

While I didn’t have the slightest idea what Goodwill was.

Goodwill.  Good will.  Good will?  Good will!

And there it is. Kablam. Kaboom. Good will.

I had no idea!

Goodwill, to me, was like Cracker Jacks. Hoover. Cheerios. Jumping jacks. Marbles. It was just a thing, a word. It wasn’t even a concept.  It was just another part of my childhood, easily forgotten – and, now, in retrospect, so easily misunderstood.

Good will.

Good will to others.

My mother was teaching us to give.

And I had nothing more to give back then than an utter disregard for my mother’s intentions.

My mother knew we were wealthy. My mother knew that abundance isn’t to be kept for gloating over, for hoarding, for not sharing.

My mother was acting out of good will.

And I -- I hadn’t the slightest idea that the "word" Goodwill comprised two vital words.

Good will.

Now I know. Now, after so many years gone by, so many clothes outgrown, out-needed, never needed, sometimes used, sometimes worn, often worn for some, and so often never even remembered, I understand good will.

Good will isn’t a mountain of clothing.

Good will is a place of grace.

It is a state of knowing that prosperity is most enjoyed when shared and given.

I have more prosperity when I give of my riches.  I have more abundance when I give of my heart.  I have more love when I live from my soul.

When was the last time I looked through my closets?  When was the last time I took inventory of my prosperity?  When was the last time I passed some on?

I have just begun to go through all my shelves of books.

Why do I have books lining my shelves that others could be reading?  Why do I have clothes filling my closets that I don’t even wear?

It is time once again to spread a little good will.

But this time, I will understand the gift my mother passed on to me.

This time, I will feel the gift of good will.

Good will is not only a gift to those who receive it.

Good will is also precious to those who give it.

Thank you God for Goodwill.

Thank you God for God’s will.

Thank you God for good will.

Thank you God for so much good.

Amen.

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