Grief in Change

I have no doubt that the end result of the simplification process will be lovely. Freeing. Peaceful. Beautiful. Organized. Totally worth it.


But with everything I decided to sell, give away, or trash, there is a little bit of me that grieves. To varying degrees, of course. The half-used green eyeliner from 4 years ago doesn't grip me with the same sentimentality as the books I once loved in 6th grade (yes, I am actually getting rid of books- a first for me). Nonetheless, it's an exhausting process.


Take, for example, my formal dresses. After Proms and President's Balls and weddings, I have about 8. The logical side of my thinking clearly sees that 8 formal dresses are not a necessity. But still, each one carries a memory with it, and the process of deciding what to keep and what to get rid of has taken much thought, time, and consideration. (For those of you thinking, "Geez, they're just cloth!", you have either never been a pack rat, or are a man. This post may not be for you.)


Stage 1: Denial
I don't really need to get rid of these. After all, I am getting rid of meaningless junk. These have memories attached. They are not meaningless. And they have taffeta. And glitter. You know how I love sparkle!!!

Stage 2: Anger
Why me? Why do I have to get rid of my beautiful things? Everyone around me gets to keep their stuff. Why do I have to be different? Why did God ask us to do things differently? [mental kicking and screaming ensue]


Stage 3: Bargaining
Maybe if I get rid of more other stuff, I can keep these. Maybe getting rid of just one will be enough. I suppose if I get rid of something than need it, I can just buy more...maybe. Besides,
what does God really mean by "need?" It's probably open to interpretation.


Stage 4: Depression
I guess I don't really have a choice. We'll probably end up with not enough stuff, destitute. My daughters will never be able to wear them *sniff*

Stage 5: Acceptance

Not having 8 prom dresses is probably okay. It will even give me more closet space! I do not want to have more than I need. I would rather spend time with friends and family than cleaning.

Let's just say I am so glad we are getting this under control before we have kids. That will be a whole new challenge in reigning in the sentimentality.

Memoirs of a Pack Rat

I have always been a pack rat. Judging by the 10 year old received Christmas cards in my parents house, it might be a genetic trait.

But people put time and energy into those cards and letters. They don't write themselves, you know. Besides, don't you want to remember what your third cousin Sally was doing in 2001? It might come in handy later.

For me, the journey towards minimalism is shaping up to be a long one. Honestly, it already has been. I decided while living in a college dorm room that the more belongings you have, the more you have to clean and organize and maintain. Frankly, I have better things to do with my time than rearrange meaningless junk.

But all the cards from my high school and college graduations aren't meaningless, are they? What if someone who gave me one dies, and it's the last piece of paper I ever receive from them?

How about those countless souvenirs from the far-flung places my friends and I have been blessed to visit? How does one survive without half a dozen Chinese fans?

What about that soccer uniform? Maybe without it I will forget I ever played soccer.

Those doubles of almost every picture I own could be important, because what if I lose the first set? Going with that logic, I should also keep a backup set of all journals, academic records, and financial information- just in case.

And that candy from halloween? You know it is perfectly fine.

I listen to my internal dialogue with horror and humor, sadness and hope. Until you really take stock of what you have, both in comparison to what you need and in comparison to the rest of the world, you don't realize how much of your identity is tied into your belongings. Think of how we describe people- the boy in the blue shirt, the woman who drives the black SUV, the girl with the purple bookbag, the man who lives in the big green house on the corner- and you will realize how much we associate people with the material items around them.

I don't doubt this journey toward a simple life will turn out to be more far more psychological than physical, more emotional than logical.

Front Porch Sale

My house (okay, actually the house we are renting right now) is a disaster. Seriously. It's not unusual for it to looked "lived in," but this is a little extreme. As in pick-a-path extreme.

But not for long. This weekend, we are having a front porch sale, which is a like a garage sale but on our large front porch. For more information, you can check out the event Facebook page here.
This is sort of an emotional event for me. We have been talking about simplifying since before we left for Africa, but the conviction became even stronger there. Even I saw that one coming. This sale is the first in a long line of steps we need to take to simplify our lives physically, materially, socially, financially, and in every other way that we can think of.

As much as I love my country and am proud of my culture, it is making a decision to turn my back on what has become accepted as the American way of life-

Excess.
More money.
More power.
More status.
More possessions.
More activities.
More competition.

Josh and I have decided we just don't want that life. We want to be as free as possible from the things that may distract us from God. We want to be able to have room in our daily lives for the Holy Spirit to direct us.

Therefore, we are starting down this alternative path. I told a good friend the other night that Josh and I are like [Christian] hippies minus the politics [and drugs]. Maybe not exactly, but it kind of sums up something complicated in one phrase : ) It'll do for now.

We Will Praise You In This Storm, cont'd

Continued from another post- read the first part here.

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I laid down on the bathroom floor, staring toward the ceiling in the dark, numb. I felt as if I should cry... but no tears came.

My mom's text: Their house is gone.
I can't even wrap my mind around it. Memories, safety, security- the flew away with the building.

What if we lose them? Are they safe? Injured? I can't stand the thought. I push it out of my mind.

I pray.

I plead.

I struggle.

I want to praise God in this storm. It is a reminder of His mighty power, His strength, and His complete control. We are so obviously utterly helpless, which oddly feels more comfortable than when we are helpless but refuse to admit it.

But words seem so shallow and meaningless at this point. I often hear people talking about praising God through a storm, but what does that look like? I think that, more than pretty words, He wants our sincere trust and resignation to His will. I don't think anyone is grateful to find out they have cancer, or is thrilled to lose their job or, God forbid, a child. If God knows our hearts- and I believe He does- language that reflects the attitude we want to have about a situation is not what He wants to hear.

As I laid there praying, I remembered that this is part of the Holy Spirit's job, according to one of my favorite passages:

"In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we
ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that
words can not express. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of
the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with
God's will." - Romans 8:26-27

You know what? I love this passage. It gives me so much peace to know that I just can't fail at praying. The Holy Spirit guides us, and stands in the gap for us. The only way to fail is to not pray at all. As for praising God in difficult times, I think He wants our sincere love and trust, our awe of His might, our surrender to His will, more than He wants us to pretend we like everything that's happening. After all, He already knows my heart; I can't pretend with God.

We Will Praise You In This Storm

I am literally in the middle of a storm (on Thursday night). I'm not talking about a metaphorical, blog-type storm, but rather a storm system full of tornadoes. We have been sitting in the basement bathroom of the house we rent, just hanging out. The lights have flickered, but the internet has stayed on the whole time, which is one of those curious modern-day situations I can't quite understand.

This storm has been...well, intense. Usually it seems as if the National Weather Service issues a tornado warning, we all seek shelter, and nothing happens.

But this time is different.

I am not sure of all the facts right now. What I do know is that the radio keeps throwing around phrases like "half-mile wide tornado," and "people trapped in their house," and "warning has been extended."

The house of our dear family friends just flew away- with them underneath it. It's so strange for me to even imagine. All I can think of is the "Wizard of Oz." I was literally at the beach with them this morning. Until I heard that they were safely at my parent's house, all I could wonder was if that was the last time I would see them. There are literally holes in their yard from where trees were just picked up out of the ground. They are rounding up cattle because all of their outbuildings are gone, too.

I think we here death and destruction and disaster sensationalized so much on the news nowadays (I cannot believe I just used that word), that we forget the layers present in ever story, in every number. Each number is a life, full of hopes and dreams and responsibilities and potential. Each life connects to hundreds of other lives. God loves each life each number represents. When tragedy hits home- literally- it challenges you to actually think, to feel, to have compassion for others. In some ways, desensitization may be healthy- imagine if we were overcome with grief every time we heard about something horrible happening. We would hardly be able to function in daily life (as someone who is strongly mercy-oriented, I say this from experience). However, being desensitized to the point of not feeling is pathological.

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The National Weather Service tornado warning for our area finally expired. Now it's time for dinner (at 9pm), so this will have to be continued... : )

Is It Just Me?

For some reason, I am a creature of habit. No, really. Like more than is normal. Sure I love to travel and have periodic reprieves from my patterns, but more often than not trying new things is like running anything more than a mile- every. step. takes my full attention. I blame it on my dad; he is the same way- perfectly content to be home, to be surrounded by what he knows. We like the familiar.

But some habits are best broken sooner rather than later. While preparing for our time in Africa, and while later living there, I had no trouble contributing to this blog regularly. It felt necessary. I could pre-empt other activities with no guilt, no feelings of selfishness; despite the fact I enjoyed putting my thoughts into words, I could convince myself that it wasn't for me- it was for a greater purpose.

Now, writing gets pushed to the end of my to-do list, the same list that is never finished. The tasks remaining at the end of the day are transferred to the next day's list, but there is never enough time to complete them. I can't put my finger on it, but there is just something about that fact that seems wrong to me... I just don't think this was what God intended. Our lives are always... unfinished. We forget we are totally complete in Him before we cross a single item off the list.

I have learned so much in these last few months that I want to share. Even if no one ever reads this blog again, I want them written down, even if only so that I don't forget them. But some of these truths are so mammoth and so life-changing and so challenging that I know my limited skill just can't do them justice. I admit I am intimidated, but I need this. I need to conquer this fear of failure and selfishness and insignificance before they take long-term root. This is me, breaking a habit.

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