:: a letter to myself ::
Oh, but they mock me.
The boots in the locker downstairs. They were bought and then used… and then silently exiled to the basement, out of sight and out of mind for all but a couple days a year. Too heavy but too expensive to admit it and now too old to return. So they sit downstairs and I force myself to wear them once a year and chide myself for being wasteful in between storms.
The cups in the bottom drawer. Every kid has tried and used and rejected a different sippy. The opaque metal ones that curdle the contents when moms forget to collect them at the end of the day (week?). The grow-into-me one with the handles that drips too much and explodes when dropped from high chairs. The normal one that loses its valve every. single. time. The almost-grown-up versions, each with a broken handle or missing straw or half chewed-off bite valve. A fifty-dollar drawer full of non-matching, abundant annoyance… taking up space and growing contempt.
The pants that are my favorite but will never fit. Seriously. Like, never. I keep them because they’re perfectly fine but I am not, and giving them away means throwing away money and admitting they were a poor choice.
This tiny shoebox of a house is packed full of haunts that point to quick decisions, bad timing, and waste. I keep them like a penance. Make do, I whisper. Make it work and no one will know you actually want a take-back. That you bought in excess. That you didn’t think it through, didn’t do your research, didn’t use that appliance you thought would change your life.
Bring out your dead.
Sometimes being free isn’t about healing childhood hurts or changing careers or making a counseling appointment. Sometimes being free is about the simple, every day decisions. Guilt and shame hide in corners of our homes that we often deem too minor to dust. By the time we break, it’s that blasted sippy cup staring at you that makes you question your worth. It’s the boots, the scratched DVDs, the wilted veggies in the bottom of the fridge that wear you down. We’re surrounded by a hundred small decisions we wish we could take back, and they weaken our defenses to the greater battles in life.
Gather the rotted, the too small, the ill-fitting and be done. Make room. Do you need permission? I do. I declare a day of amnesty. No explanations, no defense, and cart the guilt out with the over-abundance of crap that has made itself at home thanks to your desire to keep it all together.
Let us be done.
There is a child coming, who is a king. THE king. This is no time for distraction or shame. In fact, instead, this is the season of preparation. Clear the way, inside and out, for the Christ-child to arrive. There is no room for excess baggage, so start moving. Old, new, and everything in between that hurts your heart for the wrong reasons. Gather what binds you and send it on its way.
He is coming to set you free- not only from this broken world, but from yourself. However simple or ridiculous or prideful… whatever the reason those objects weigh you down… the best gift you can bring Him this season is a heart with room.