Stuff stresses me out.
I am just not one of those people who gets attached to stuff, to be perfectly honest. Keeping items because of their sentimental value has never really been my thing. Our king-sized bed, the Pontiac Sunfire we just got rid of, the Five Iron Frenzy hoodie I bought in community college, the journal Josh and I wrote to each other in while we were long-distance, my wedding ring, a box of letters and cards from the people dearest to me. Those are basically the only material things I’ve really forged an intense attachment to.
I am a hoarder of many things. People, memories, songs, long conversations, good coffee, laughter, moments; I hold those things close to me and try my best to not let go. I am a hoarder of many things; stuff is not one of them.
So when I sit in the middle of our living room and it’s full of boxes that have to be sorted through and organized, I feel my chest tightening and my jaw clenching and I strongly consider literally begging Josh to let me just ship every last box off to Goodwill without even looking through them.
So it is with many parts of life, I’m learning.
I’m an open spaces kind of girl. I would rather have a few things of great value to me than a house and head and heart and life crammed full of small things that don’t even feel necessary.
I’ve been thinking on and off today about the parable of the pearl of great price. All the things we squander away our lives on. Is it something important? Are we selling everything we have, all our time and money and energy and faith and hope, for something important? For something real? Or for a lot of little somethings that won’t matter a bit to us after a few more pages have been torn off the calendar?