Over the past week, I’ve begun filling my son’s room with all the items I’ve boxed and bagged for donations. He’s away at college, and so his room seemed the best place to store them. The common wisdom in decluttering is to get donations out of your house immediately, so they don’t become just differently-located clutter and so you’re not tempted to pull things back out of the bag. I’ve followed this advice before, but for this season I want to see the pile.
I had a friend many years ago who stuck a pound of butter in the freezer for every pound of weight she lost. This would totally backfire for me, as I would see the pile of butter and immediately begin planning out recipes to use it…but the visual was motivating for her. Any time she was frustrated at having “only” lost a pound between weigh-ins, she would hold a box of butter and think, “last week I was walking around with this on my body. Now I’m not. That’s significant.”
There’s an element of wanting to see that significance in why I’m keeping the donates for now. When I bring a bag to the donation center, it’s gone. I don’t have to think about it anymore. That quick release can be freeing. But it can also be an escape. Once I drop a bag off, I’m released from the stuff, and also from facing how much I accumulate and why I accumulated it. Immediately getting rid of donate bags can be getting rid of the evidence instead of getting rid of the problem.
Because the “stuff” is likely not the problem. Stuff is more often a symptom of a problem, so getting rid of stuff alone is often just managing symptoms.
Uncovering real can’t become symptom management, it needs to look past the symptoms, uncovering the underlying conditions of my heart.
In order to understand the magnitude of the problem, I want to sit with the magnitude of the tangible stuff. I want to celebrate the pound of victory butter in my fridge, and also acknowledge all the extra pounds I’ve been storing up, and the realities which allowed it all entry into my space.
This week I’m sitting with seven bags – the ashes which remain of purses I thought would make my life easier, shoes on too good a sale to resist, and clothes I hoped would make me beautiful and accepted, along with items which were once appropriate and even necessary, but for a life I no longer have.
I’m letting go of what I don’t need in this season, letting it turn to ash so I can sit in humility, mortality, and intimacy, preparing to receive what’s next.
Uncovering Real 