“The sheer volume embarrasses me,” I admit to my husband while standing over piles of clothes on my bedroom floor. Coats, shoes, shirts, and pants pulled from my closet on a Saturday like leaves letting go of sturdy branches and falling in a heap. Outside, sun slants through a canopy of changing colors with invitation, but I’m choosing a shift in perspective on the inside.
This is more than a seasonal wardrobe change; we’re moving across the Atlantic without knowing any of the details about income, job placement, or residence.
All we know is that keeping a mountain of “what-if” is no longer an option. Soon we’ll be living in England without walk-in closets, a garage, or an attic. This new reality is redefining needs and wants. The underlined Scripture verse in my Bible “Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be” (Matthew 6:21) is no longer a warning to ponder but a conviction that results in repentance.
As I make piles to give away, sell, and keep, I’m blushing, not about the extravagance of riches on hangers but what the excess illustrates. People refer to this move to England as brave, but my closet says I am fearful.
As the wife of a pastor, this is my ninth move in 24 years of marriage; we are experts in lengthy, uncomfortable transition. But our first international move reveals something different than the others.
At the core of my clothing insurance policy is the subtle question “What if Jesus isn’t enough?”
My what-if’s flow into my kitchen cabinets and pantries, underneath my bathroom sink, and into an overflowing garage and attic. In the subtlety of everyday choices, it seems I’ve forgotten Jesus is my sufficiency.
Sufficiency can’t be calculated or planned for, can it? Rather, it’s a conscious decision to trust in Jesus, who loves us with abandon and provides for his children relentlessly, even in the midst of uncertainty.
Numbers of shoes, a full pantry, and the balance in my checking account create a false sense of security and a slanted view of identity.
As we transition from a sprawling four-bedroom house toward minimalism, I’m asking myself some important questions with fresh conviction about my answers.
Is it valuable or easily forgotten?
The value of keepsakes is subjective, just as in our relationships. Cards, children’s artwork, old photographs—most conjure fond memories, markers of calling or remembrance of God’s faithfulness while holding little monetary value.