“It’s just stuff, Kacy. Calm down.”
Sunday was the day; the day that I had too much coffee around noon, got over ambitious, & began packing away my life, box by box, and donation bag by donation bag.
I’ve known that the day was coming… That dreaded day when I would eventually have to sort out my necessities (which will be moving with me this summer), my clutter (which has been bagged for Goodwill), and well, the rest of my life (which is being boxed & thrown into storage until my move to Texas, eight-ish months from now).
All of this separating, boxing, and bagging has made me realize something about myself:
I’m an incredibly sentimental person.
The moments that I cherish the most are those that I spend with the people I love, and I love having things around me to remind me of those moments or the times when God has shown up in my life.
My apartment is full of such items: the mural I painted on my wall, the photos of family and friends that hang in my kitchen, my grandfather’s typewriter, my great-grandmother’s Bible, my favorite books, and my journals full of stories…my stories…
I cherish all of these things, not even because of their earthly value, but because of the ties that they have to my little sentimental heart.
And as I boxed them up and stared at the empty space on my shelves and walls last weekend, a part of me began to panic.
This is seriously happening. I am giving up everything that makes me comfortable and walking into the unknown.
My heart jumped into my throat and I wanted to rip the packing tape off of my boxes and replace everything back into its proper home.
I realized that I have grown attached to my stuff and not just in a cute, sentimental way, but in a way that has led me cherish my stuff and my memories over my King.
In my apartment, surrounded by my properly placed stuff, I know who I am.
Actually, no, that’s not true either. In my apartment surrounded by my properly placed stuff, I am comfortable with who I have become. And because of this I am not actively trying to be the woman who God has created or called me to be.
In my stuff-y comfort zone, I am not being courageous for the Kingdom, I am not being a steward of what He has given me for His glory, and I most certainly am not declaring, “I am a daughter of the King and I long to know nothing except Christ crucified”.
No. Instead, I have been sitting here in my comfort zone being
a wimp a wimpy hoarder of blessings a wimpy hoarder of blessings who would rather set her identity in the earthly junk around her instead of within her Heavenly Father and His call upon her life.
Do I really want my identity to come from the world?
Do I want to be reminded of my identity by all of the stuff in my life?
Yes… I mean no.
Do I love my stuff more than God?
No… Yes…. I mean, no. Definitely not.
This whole experience of giving up the cute life I have worked so hard to build for myself and follow God into the unknown simply reconfirms everything that I already knew about myself; I’m a mess.
A stuff-y mess.
But gosh darn it, by the end of this month I will be a less stuff-y mess. In fact, I will be a less stuff-y, homeless, nomadic mess…
Eeesh, things I can’t think about right now. One step at a time…
For now, I am simply working on not panicking every time I seal a box or take a load of my stuff to storage.
What is God calling you to leave behind today?
For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?”