We鈥檙e twenty percent moved, and one hundred percent befuddled. Despite knowing we must continue with our great downsizing, reducing the contents of a two-storey home to what best fits a one-storey (about half the size) has all the appeal of major surgery without anaesthetic.
Our stow-n-go van and my car have made numerous trips down the highway. We鈥檙e trickling in; hauling necessities for part-time occupation of the second house, until our first sells. We鈥檝e transferred enough to make it comfortable now. I feel good about that until we return to Hope House.
鈥淗ow discouraging,鈥� I told the Preacher the other day as we walked in the door. 鈥淭he little house feels almost full now, but when we come back here, it seems as though we haven鈥檛 moved a thing.鈥� He cringes. We both do, realizing what it means: deep cuts ahead.
鈥淓verything you and I own,鈥� he is fond of telling congregations, 鈥渨ill end up in the dump one day.鈥� He follows that with a sermon on how believers are mandated to live. Making it a priority to share our lives and our faith in God who gave us life. Putting people first and holding things loosely. We are, after all, temporary dwellers here on earth. Heaven, our eternal, our real home, waits.
I agree. So why, I ask myself when confronted with yet another brimming cupboard, do we find it so excruciatingly hard to part with what will one day be reduced to ashes?
As I go through our carefully collected items, deciding what must be kept, I ask the usual questions: Do I really need this? When was the last time I used it? Why have I kept it? Could a friend or family member better use it? Can I snap a picture of it and keep that instead of the item itself? (I shared that last tip with a friend in the same situation. 鈥淒oes that work for husbands, too?鈥� she wanted to know.)
I also ask another question. 鈥淲hat is the worst thing that would happen if I got rid of this?鈥澛� All too often I must answer, 鈥淚 might, one day, miss it for five minutes.鈥� Confronted with that, it seems easier to toss things into the 鈥淥ut it goes!鈥漛in.
I鈥檓 singing moving songs again, the same ones I鈥檝e sung on every one of our eight previous moves over the last forty-three years and three provinces. 鈥淭his world is not my home, I鈥檓 just a passin鈥� through. My treasures are laid up, somewhere beyond the blue...鈥� And 鈥淚鈥檓 just a pilgrim, in search of a city...鈥� Also, 鈥淎in鈥檛 a鈥檊onna need this house no longer, ain鈥檛 a鈥檊onna need this house no more...ain鈥檛 got time to oil the hinges, ain鈥檛 got time to fix the door...鈥�(except there鈥檚 also a door at our new house that needs fixing).
I鈥檓 praying, too. 鈥淟ord, help me let go of temporal things I can鈥檛 keep, so you can fill those gaps with eternal things I can鈥檛 lose.鈥� Amen.
