De-Stuffifying

My room is a mess. For days on end I have sat in piles of stuff from every season of life. I never realized how much stuff I've acquired in these (almost) 20 years. Elementary school has left its mark: all my precious trinkets including a giant wad of key chains, funky hairpieces, whistles, bouncy balls, a basket of beanie babies, worn and loved stuffed animals, and some goofy journals filled with worries about who won the math game, who sat in the front during story time (for real!), and who my favorite stuffed animal was that day. Middle school notes passed between classes with amusing sketches of teachers, secret code names, poems, and crushes. High school awards, college mail, more notes, endless ruined school supplies... And then college. Teaching materials, new worlds of knowledge, scholarship applications, portfolios of activities, projects that took hours. Saving everything for that elusive "one day" when children will get to enjoy the years of stuff piled up... read old favorites of mine, pour over stuff (others might deem useless) with new wonder. So. What can I get rid of? If everything might be needed at some point. The dilemma continues.

I feel like my life is similar.... if I only took once a year to de-stuffify, I would be a complete mess (kinda like my closet floor...) At the time, no junk actually seems to be junk. It seems valuable, useful, or there's clearly some reason that I'm keeping it. But years down the road... suddenly those precious treasures are no more than useless clutter that fill my life. When the time comes to give it away though, I'm strangely attached. Strangely attached to the useless slinky, the faded fleece sweatshirt, the brown stuffed horse. Even if I've completely outgrown it, the fact that it's been in my room -- in my life -- for so long makes me attached to it. I can't part with it. I keep rearranging my "give-away" pile until there's practically nothing left... and so it is with the behaviors, the tendencies, the habits in my life that I know are not useful, helpful, or even good. The things I know are keeping me from growing. Inhibiting my relationships... with God and with others. But for some reason when I evaluate where I am... I'm attached. I don't want to change things. I don't want to get rid of things. I want them there because they've always been there. Because I suddenly realize that they have a place in my heart. I've allowed them in, and I can no longer imagine life without them. But this clutter, this junk, is filling up my life... keeping me from things that will be good for me. Now and in the long-run.

May I not hold so tightly to the junk in my life, so as to take up all the spaces that might be filled with treasures instead.

Tomorrows and Todays

Time travel movies boggle my mind. I'm usually slow in general when watching movies, which means I always need a "movie buddy" to explain it to me long after everyone else gets it. But time travel movies, no matter how much people try to explain, just simply don't make sense. I like them though. They bring interesting questions to mind.... but they're still in some ways just unexplainable, and I usually am not too comfortable with that.

Some of our youngest memories have to do with time. People tell us "in a minute" "one second" "in ____ days...." and we eagerly anticipate when time will fulfill itself and we'll be there... at that desired moment. Time does seem to fly when we're having fun... and drag by when all we can think about is what comes next. It's true for the five year old who can't wait to go to Disney world, the student watching the minutes tick by in a particularly boring lecture, as well as the expectant mother awaiting the birth of her child...

I've often found myself wishing for a fastforward or rewind button.... if I would have only known.... or if I could go forward and then come back and act accordingly. Perhaps it's the nature of time to dream about controlling it. Time is something we all are confined by, but we long to be free from its constraints. Though I am sure if we were entirely free, we would still not be happy.

Too often I find myself wishing away what I have now, because I'm too eagerly looking forward to something to come. Counting down days until...... summer. vacation. coming home. a birthday. seeing a friend. going back to school. getting out of school....... the cycle is endless. unforgiving at times. I find that after a while I lose the joy in the moment. I say that tomorrow will be better, and forget to live for today... or to make today count. I want my life to make a difference. But I can't quite do that if I'm always wishing away the here and now for the future. Because when the future comes, it will only be a boring old today... and if I do nothing with it.... that's what it will remain. I don't want to live a life of boring old todays!

An Uphill Climb

This past weekend my family took a trip up north to the sand dunes. After an early morning, a long car ride, and a picnic, we arrived at the park where we would be spending most of the day. I was super excited, and after the necessary lathering on of sunscreen, gathering of water bottles, and changing clothes and shoes we were finally ready. We walked up a shady, narrow strip of sand and arrived at the top of a giant sand dune overlooking mound after mound of sand. The surface of the sand was blurry as the wind gently tickled the top layer of grains. The sun beat down, refreshing us after a stale car ride. Squinting into the distance, we saw the blue waters of Lake Michigan, seemingly endless in the glistening sunlight. On our left Silver Lake beckoned invitingly... But we were here for the real deal: Lake Michigan. We decided to trek across the sand dunes to the distant lake, instead of settling for the closer, smaller one.

It seemed like a good idea at first. We were full of energy. We enjoyed the view. The sand felt good between our toes. We had plenty of water. After 45 minutes, and dune after dune, we were becoming a bit discouraged. We didn't seem much closer to the lake. There were only a few other people who had attempted this, and soon we had strayed away from the area where most families were and we were wandering through what seemed like an endless desert of sand, pretty much by ourselves. I knew that even if we got to Lake Michigan, I didn't know if we'd have the energy to get back... or enough water for that matter (knowing how much I like my water... I was trying to ration, but it was getting difficult). So of course, being my usual self, I might have panicked a little bit.

Despite some of these setbacks, though, we continued on. In some areas, the sand burned our feet. It took all we had to keep our mouths from crying out as we scrambled to quickly slip into our sandals or flip-flops. In other areas, it looked like a short-cut through some tall grass might be a better idea. But the tall grass was sharp and painful. We were always looking for a path that wouldn't require us to lose any elevation unnecessarily. Going uphill was the most frustrating. With every step, it seemed we were sinking backward more than forward, the flip-flops digging in between our toes.

Finally, we reached the tip of the last dune, and looked down on the gloriousness of the lake below. It seemed to touch horizon to horizon. That feeling of accomplishment, of looking back and seeing how far we'd come... the water lapping against our burned feet, cooling us. The wet sand oozing between our toes. It was worth it.

I like to think in metaphors. And I can't help but see this as a metaphor for where I feel like I am in life... I feel like I've set out on a journey where I don't really have the option of turning back. There are days where I don't feel equipped. There are days that I feel like I'm going more backwards than forwards. There are days that I'd much rather settle for a momentary satisfaction than long-term joy... there are days when I think a shortcut will be worth it, and in fact it just stings. Sometimes I feel alone, like I'm being completely stupid for attempting this journey. But in the end, it is worth it.