Too much stuff, too many boxes...

So much stuff. What a long-standing problem. Clinging to stuff.  What a suffocating habit. Living in the same huge house for forty years lulled me into complacency - even though the piles were depressing. I called them piles, but maybe they were towers, some of them leaning more dangerously than the famous one at Pisa.

Moving out of the big house was a huge step. Every pile had to be dealt with in some way. I was smart enough to pitch lots of stuff at that time, but not nearly enough. Instead, too many piles became boxfuls of this or that or some other nonsense.

I chose to call it progress because at least we succeeded in pulling up those deep roots and getting  more mobile. My stuff became portable - which was rather unbelievable really. But portable clutter is still clutter and tends to get inordinately heavy. We will not want to lug all of this stuff with us in the next move so I diligently continue to go through these boxes sorting and pitching. At least I hope that I am being diligent.  Or am I kidding myself? 

The experts say that the first step of organizing is to gather like things together. I am still in process on doing that. You see; as much as I hate to admit it, there were odds and ends all over the place in those millions of boxes that made the initial move. Why in the world did I end up with bits of this and that in this box and more bits of the same type of things in some other box on some other shelf? To give myself the benefit of the doubt, there are reasons for that. For example, the big house had four bathrooms - so there were bathroom cleaning supplies and towels and band-aids and whatever else ends up in a bathroom that got packed up in four different places and probably at four different times. We also had three office areas in the big house. No kidding. There were "his and hers" computer and study areas besides the office office - which housed everything needed to run a family and a business and a ministry. Make that several businesses and several ministries through the years. So yep, office supplies got loaded up from more than one place.  So yah, there are reasons, but they quickly become excuses - and those excuses need to be pitched with the rest of the junk.

At any rate, I continue to go through the boxes and really deal with the stuff this time.  I really wish my progress were faster, but I at least I haven't quit. Many boxes have been dealt with and are ready for the next move but there are still a few awaiting attention. This morning I pulled out one more of those and started into the "piles" that were chucked inside. It is my project for this week.   

Speaking of which, I need to get to work.  This box is staring me in the face, daring me to tear into it.

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And you? What is awaiting your attention? 
Can you see any progress? What does progress look like?

By the way, we celebrate every empty box.  What do you celebrate?

Missing the old days - Part Two

See Missing the old days - Part One here.
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Once in awhile I miss the old days.  But not really...

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I don't know that I have ever watched "Dancing with the Stars" and I don't know that I ever will. I have however seen a few episodes of other performance shows as well as the Olympics from time to time - enough to know there are two distinct sides to this brand of entertainment. There is the amazing talent, the emotion of the music, the personality of the performer, the beauty of the dance and the grace of the skaters - those are the wonders to behold and to celebrate.

Then there is the judging.   Oh, my, the judging - whether by the judges or the voting public.  The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. But also the harshness, the picky critiques, the heart-breaking put-downs. I suppose there is a place for performance judging in our world, but some of our worlds contain far too much judgment and pettiness and far too little celebration and grace.

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Some of the oft-repeated rules in my old world were demanding and difficult.   

• If you are sick, you must not have enough faith. Maybe you're not praying enough. Maybe you should throw away your pills.
• You have to submit and be more surrendered.
• Try harder and believe more strongly.
• You must be willing to pay the price.
• We must live in victory - all the time.
• Perhaps you are being punished for not having consistent daily devotions.
• When God says "Jump" it is not your place to argue or to wonder why. It is simply yours to ask "How high?" (Yes, yes, that one was probably for my protection more than about my performance, but it didn't always sound that way.)

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But in my new world, rather than a harsh raspy-voiced coach bellowing out orders to try harder, to jump higher, to throw farther, now I discover a loving father and I hear the new rules from his gentle voice. 

• Dance with me. Don't worry about stepping on my feet. In fact, some of the time, you can just stand on them and let me do the work - just like when you were little...
• It's not like DWTS. You will not be critiqued by judges. America will not vote on your performance.
• In fact, don't even think about an audience - because they don't matter. That's right; dance like no one is watching.
• Don't fret about how to keep the steps in order. Just relax and follow my lead. Lean in and feel the graceful rhythm.
• Let the music sink into your spirit and feel the breeze on your face.
• Enjoy the dance.
• Celebrate. 

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I miss the old days like I miss having two left feet!  Being klutzy is no fun. Neither is always missing the mark.  Feeling like a failure gets really old.

Good-bye, Judgment.  Hello, Grace!

Missing the old days - Part One

Sometimes I miss the whole prayer thing. The program, the plan, the ritual. Ten steps to effective prayer. The rules and principles. At those times when I am terrified or wildly hoping for some amazing thing, yah, sometimes, I miss the formulas. The trying harder to muster up enough faith. The human effort thing.

When I'm feeling desperate and impatient, I guess maybe I like having something to do - some direction to channel my nervous energy. When I really, really hope that this thing is to be, but yet am afraid to hope, maybe I wish there was some way that I could tip the balance. Some prayer I could pray, some promise I could claim, some attribute of God that I could call upon to please, please, please do this for me. Some Scriptural principle I could follow. Some Biblical fast I could undertake. Some magic formula. Some guarantee.

But maybe I see things differently now. Instead of frantic petitioning, I sense a more peaceful trusting on my part. A quiet confidence in a loving Father. Perhaps a greater acceptance of the reality that I am not in charge of everything in my world, but I am responsible for my reaction to the things that come. Maybe there is a calmer contentment with what is.

After all, if I believe in a God who created me and knows me... A God who cares about me. A God who is good and kind and compassionate. A God who is all-powerful and all-wise. A God who works all things together for good to them who love Him and are called according to His purpose. If there is a God like that and if I trust Him, well then, maybe I don't have to get all worked up and make frantic demands, "Please, Papa, please!" or "Oh, dear God, what can I DO to get you to do what I want?"

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Yes, I guess sometimes I miss the old prayer rituals, but mostly in a good way - like I miss being congested. Like after being sick for a week with a nasty head cold, and then waking up one morning feeling better. Like breathing in relief and breathing out gratitude. Like being excited that it feels so good to feel good again!

What if it is not about my performance, about me getting the steps in perfect order? What if it is not about claiming the right verses or saying the right prayers? What if it's not a check-list of rules and regulations and rituals?

What if it is simply a gift? Can I breathe in the quiet realization that I am loved? Exhale. Deep sigh. Grace. Joy. Delight. Gratitude. Trust. Relief. Feeling cherished. Humbled to know that I did not earn this. I could not have earned it - no matter how hard I tried.

Yes, sometimes I miss the old congestion - just before I notice that it feels so good to feel good. To be able to breathe freely.  Ah..........

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...and now for Part Two of "Missing the old days"

Five-Minute Friday: Write

Five-Minute Friday
It is Friday.  I haven't done FMF for a really long time.
Thinking about doing it again.
Write for five minutes with no editing.

Finding a timer
Setting it for five minutes
The prompt is: WRITE
Ready... Go!

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Write

I want to write. At least I say that I want to write, but then I question myself so often. I ask if I really do want to write - or do I just want to have written. Yes, I've written about writing - about the process of writing, about all this - numerous times.

When I write profusely, I feel good about it. When people like what I've written, I feel even better. When I don't write much, I feel sad - or guilty or defeated or something. I ask myself why I don't write when I say that I want to.

Writing coaches say to ask yourself why you want to write. Why really? I might go there here. On the other hand, I also wonder why I don't write.

I don't write because I get distracted. I may think of something that I really want to write about, but then something else comes along to grab my attention.

I don't write because it is hard work. An idea comes together and I may speak it and it keeps growing and I say I need to get this down. But then I try and it doesn't come together the same way again. At least not easily. It feels like hard work. It is hard work.

I don't write because I keep running out of time. Like right now... Time is up.  Drats! 

But I did write.