The season was about the Christ Child and God's redeeming love for the world, but on Christmas morning, you couldn't see the nativity for all the stuff it was buried under, giving a whole new meaning to "no room at the inn."
'murica.
I've spent my life a full and willing participant in our consumer culture, but still a little voice inside, underneath, has cried out for simplicity. Our past two moving decisions have been made under the advice of that small voice, going against the grain and moving to smaller homes rather than larger, forcing us to get rid of things we don't need.
Before this past move, I thought we had done a good job of cleaning things out. Two garage sales, many drop-offs at Goodwill, one Salvation Army truck pickup, many Craigslist sales, countless overstuffed trash bags... and yet when we moved into our no-basement, no-attic downtown home, our garage was still filled with boxes. I wanted to cry. I did cry.
And so I went through it all one more time, even more ruthlessly than before. Do I use it? Do I love it? If not, "I fare thee well."
And now, two cars fit in our two-car garage. We're getting there. Don't get me wrong; we're not "there," and there's still more we could live without. But here's the beauty of living smaller: I love the things that surround me. The pictures and artwork hanging on my walls? They stir something in my heart. The books on my bookshelves? They hold significance. The knick knacks that survived extreme culling? Souvenirs from our most cherished moments, relationships, places.
1 comment:
Couldn't have said it better myself. Living in a one bedroom apartment and loving ONLY my favorite things.
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