Going . . . Going . . . Gone!

By the grace of God (and adhering to the never fail recipe of: Bible, prayer, worship), Dennis and I enjoy a marriage that has gone from good to better and is on track for best. That is not to say, though, that we haven't weathered a few storms . . .

We had moved to Beaumont, Texas, for a better paying job for Dennis. Our realtor's husband happened to work for a district that was in need of a bilingual teacher, a job just up my alley! So it was that a job literally fell into my lap; I didn't even have to begin to hunt for one! We felt blessed indeed. Then . . .

One afternoon I was coming home from an in-service, one of those necessary evils that form part of the beginning of every school year--while some in-services are really good, and some are even necessary, many seem mere exercises in developing patience in teachers who would much rather be preparing their classrooms. As I turned onto our street, what should I see but a sight that took my breath away.

There, in the open garage, stood Dennis. Winnowing out the stuff we were going to store there. And right beside him, big as Dallas, was our gargantuan trash bin, chock full of discards. And guess what one of the things sticking out was. A toy spear my boys had bought at the Gladys Porter Zoo gift shop the last time we went there together. Exiting the car in nervous fear (I kind of could tell what had happened) I ran to rescue it. This was a memory! We couldn't throw it away! When would the boys and I ever go to that zoo again???? But, alas, when I pulled it out . . . Dennis had "fixed" it so it would fit in the trash. He had broken it in two. It was totally unsalvageable.

"Dennis, I wanted that!" I wailed. Too late, too late, too late. While I didn't berate him, Dennis was all too aware of the pain the loss of the spear had occasioned. He apologized and purposed to check with me before destroying things that were "mine" from that day forward. (Poor guy, he had thought just like a man--a toy spear, how important can that be?) His new resolve worked for a while, until an unfortunate accident conspired to trick him into thinking my gold was trash.

What happened was this . . . Because of the constraints of space, my Dirty Napkins Basket was situated right next to the Rags to Use for Whatever Basket. Apparently, one day a careless person (that would be me) flicked their dirty kitchen towel into the Dirty Napkins Basket. Only it didn't go into the Dirty Napkins Basket. It flipped into the Rags to Use for Whatever Basket. The next Sunday found me tearing the kitchen apart looking for my other good kitchen towel (one of my two favorites, soft, fluffy, and adorned with fruit appliques reflective of my kitchen's motif). It was nowhere to be found.

Hearing all the commotion of drawers banging, etc., Dennis called from the living room, "What are you looking for?" I explained, describing the missing towel. His face turned an ugly shade of mottled green. He had taken the missing article from the Rags Basket, torn it in two, and used it to tie our new avocado tree to its stake. "Oh," I said, in a wee small voice that matched my downcast demeanor. I don't recall if I said anything else. I do know I tried to downplay the offense because it was clearly an accident due to my carelessness (and yes, I moved the Rags Basket so the offense wouldn't be repeated) and tried valiantly to "let it go." Only I couldn't help sobbing over the rice I was cooking. And, of course, that broke Dennis's heart. It was a silly tragedy only someone emotionally tied to their kitchen "stuff" can identify with.

And "stuff" is the right word for it. As I bemoaned the loss of my things to a colleague, an excellent teacher and fantastic Christian, she nailed it. She said, "You just said it yourself, Janine. It's just 'stuff.' In the long run, those things are going to end up in the trash bin anyway. Why should we to cling to them? All we really need is Jesus."

Truer words have never been spoken. I stand corrected . . . and sense a growing awareness that my husband's minimalist tendencies are, in reality, a blessing. Don't they say that the stories of Jesus recorded in the Gospels are important, but when they are repeated in more than one Gospel it means that God really wants us to pay attention to them? Similarly, I see a recurring them in some of the bumps in our married life, a call not to set great store in the "stuff" that so easily besets us. I see God speaking to my love of said stuff.

And so . . . as we enter the season of accumulating more stuff (Christmas), I invite you to join me in "Dennisizing" our homes--culling our closets and giving unused stuff to someone who can really use it (think Goodwill). A missionary friend in Spain said the ladies there usually sport no more than 3 outfits total (no wonder their closets are so small!). Puts my closet to shame!

Now, don't get me wrong--there's a balance to be had. God doesn't want you running around in your skivvies because you gave ALL your stuff away. Neither does He want you to cry like Bro. Andrew's wife (he of smuggling Bibles fame) because you are invited to a banquet and you have nothing banquet- worthy to wear. There's a balance to strive for. Didn't Paul write, "Let your moderation be known unto all men" (Philippians 4:5)?

What I do NOT want is to be an Achan (read his story in Joshua 7), coveting, hoarding, and so mesmerized by "stuff" that I fail to hear God when He says "Follow Me!"--and unable to follow even if I did hear Him because I am so weighed down by stuff! Nope, this is one instance when less is definitely better.

Onward, ho! To the closets and beyond! On to declutter--and make more room for God and the real things that matter in our lives!

"For ye had compassion of me in my bonds, and took joyfully the spoiling of your goods, knowing in yourselves that ye have in heaven a better and enduring substance." Hebrews 10:34