On se désembrouille
Most of us abuse the word 'love'. It's oddly used as a synonym for a relatively tepid preference. Other times it cloaks a much less attractive compulsion to own, to hoard, to accumulate, to possess and especially to control things, people, and life.
I read or heard a sermon by Charles Stanley in which he said that when he found he 'loved' any possession, he took action to give it away. I thought about that when I lost a reindeer leather wallet I really, really loved. It was soft and small and just getting worn in exactly right, several years after I'd bought it as both a necessity and keepsake on a trip to Helsinki. Man, even just writing about it, I have to say I did love that wallet. I was more pained by losing that wallet than I was about the money inside it, or the annoyances of replacing cards and IDs afterwards.
It was swell, but just a thing, and most of the value was the memory of the experience (including haggling with a market seller in the rain and convincing him to drop the price significantly), which I still have. Even that, as I get older, will fade, but it's also something I don't need.
As I look around my house, so full of so many things, it's a little shocking how much I have that I don't need. And how much I have that is excess, surplus, redundant. I'm weirdly excited about giving as much as possible away! (Okay, mainly because it beats having to move all of this stuff.)
I wonder if God always meant us to stay in motion, to avoid overly encumbering ourselves. Once out of Eden we are forever homeless on this Earth, and the more we feel at home here the more we distance ourselves from our eternal home. Nothing is truly ours, mere stewards, and so careless of the really valuable elements of life. Here's to trusting God: The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
I read or heard a sermon by Charles Stanley in which he said that when he found he 'loved' any possession, he took action to give it away. I thought about that when I lost a reindeer leather wallet I really, really loved. It was soft and small and just getting worn in exactly right, several years after I'd bought it as both a necessity and keepsake on a trip to Helsinki. Man, even just writing about it, I have to say I did love that wallet. I was more pained by losing that wallet than I was about the money inside it, or the annoyances of replacing cards and IDs afterwards.
It was swell, but just a thing, and most of the value was the memory of the experience (including haggling with a market seller in the rain and convincing him to drop the price significantly), which I still have. Even that, as I get older, will fade, but it's also something I don't need.
As I look around my house, so full of so many things, it's a little shocking how much I have that I don't need. And how much I have that is excess, surplus, redundant. I'm weirdly excited about giving as much as possible away! (Okay, mainly because it beats having to move all of this stuff.)
I wonder if God always meant us to stay in motion, to avoid overly encumbering ourselves. Once out of Eden we are forever homeless on this Earth, and the more we feel at home here the more we distance ourselves from our eternal home. Nothing is truly ours, mere stewards, and so careless of the really valuable elements of life. Here's to trusting God: The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
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