I prepared for the worst. As most of you know, I have been re-organizing, decluttering, and Marie Kondo-ing my home in an effort to downsize my belongings and make room in my life for what’s next.

As the mountains of donation/sell piles increased, it occurred to me that my FamBam2 reunion weekend may be a good time to display the items I have loved, thanked, and set aside for someone else’s future.

So, I began my own share-the-love campaign and created a flea market in my basement. With a full heart and great expectations, I thoughtfully arranged and labeled my prized possessions.

More than once, however, friends and professionals in the consignment and resale business cautioned me:

Millennials don’t want our stuff.

Maybe. Maybe not. How would I know if I didn’t ask?

Nevertheless, I was ready for total rejection. Even if they took nothing, I comforted myself, the gathering, organizing, and displaying of the items would be beneficial. Maybe I could then open my flea market to the public!

As they arrived for the weekend, one by one, they entered my flea market and began to meander around my tables of memories.

“It’s all free to a good home,” I announced. “But shipping isn’t included. No Amazon prime benefits here. Sorry.”

I tried hard to keep it light and fun; there’s nothing worse than a hovering salesperson, right?

But secretly, I hoped the things I loved would continue to be loved in new homes with their new loved ones. I hoped the old could become new again.

Still, I kept my expectations low. Very low.

But my kids and their cousins surprised me! My Easter and Halloween decorations found a home with my niece in Atlanta. My nephew and his wife took a set of dishes, a festive jacket, and several silver serving pieces back to Arkansas. My daughter and her husband took Christmas plates, educational placemats, and three miniature tea sets for my granddaughter Blakely Faye to their home in Milwaukee. And my son and his fiancée reserved my fine china, crystal, and my full set of Thanksgiving dishes to be picked up on their next visit.

I was ecstatic!

As we packed up the items, I recalled not only the seasons of the year (and the evidence of those celebrations) but also the seasons of life during which they had been used and loved. My parents had dined on many of those dishes, as had my grandparents. On one set of china, I’d served my first turkey, complete with the giblet package still tucked inside!

Yikes!

What deep joy it brought me to know some of my storied dishes would continue serving the next generation. So grateful for that surprising answer—YES!

How about you? Any inspiring tales of downsizing to share? I’m all ears. It’s one tough endeavor, that’s for sure. We need to encourage one another, right?

P.S. Thanks for all your responses to last week’s “Exhaustedly Joyful Vacation Report.” Sister Rachel and I had fun bombing our kids with these new-fangled water balloons!