Stuff and the Kingdom
Today we’re wrapping up leftover packing. I saved the boxes under the bed and the overflow in the closet for last knowing they’d be the most satisfying. As we’re in an apartment, these spaces function as our attic.
There’s something immensely satisfying about lightening your earthly load - throwing excess stuff away. I had childish glee watching the trash bags and Goodwill boxes pile up. It’s like paying a big bill. Hard to watch the money go… but, man, you walk so much more lightly when it’s done.
Even ridding yourself of old birthday cards, pictures you drew as a kid, and old high school clothes feels nice in the end. Weeding through piles of old things makes you realize which items are precious and truly sentimental. Because, seriously, when was I going to read all of the cards from my 13th birthday party again? (I kept yours Mom and Dad, don’t worry!) Or glance over every single watercolor from that one year I took an art class? Or finally use that gift that we don’t care for but can’t make ourselves throw away?
Jesus told us not to lay up our treasures on earth. It’s cliche, perhaps, but it shouldn’t be.
Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure us, there your heart will be also.
Even the most dear possessions - love letters from my husband and I’s long-distance days, newborn baby clothes, keepsakes from my California childhood - won’t come with me to heaven. The best they can do is point me to eternal realities.
So, in that joy of decluttering, I think God gives us a small window into the joy that comes with letting go of this life. The joy of remembering that salvation in Jesus is all we really possess. I can’t say I do that well. But I’m glad of the reminder. I’ll try to keep it with me when I’m again tempted by hoarding and consummerism.
This poem by Mary Oliver sums up this sentiment nicely.
Storage
When I moved from one house to another
there were many things I had no room
for. What does one do? I rented a storage
space. And filled it. Years passed.
Occasionally I went there and looked in,
but nothing happened, not a single
twinge of the heart.
As I grew older the things I cared
about grew fewer, but were more
important. So one day I undid the lock
and called the trash man. He took
everything.
I felt like the little donkey when
his burden is finally lifted. Things!
Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful
fire! More room in your heart for love,
for the trees! For the birds who own
nothing–the reason they can fly.