Emptying out
The wind whips outside, the sky is gray, and I return to words I read last week on Ann Voskamp's blog, A Holy Experience. She records a phone conversation with her brother where, together, they work out what Lent means. "Our faith community doesn't practice Lent," she writes. Nor does ours, typically. But like Advent, I like the space Lent creates in our spiritual lives.
Advent is expectation, waiting for the fulfillment of promise, waiting for the physical presence of Immanuel, God with us; God in the landscape; God in real time.
Lent is preparation, emptying out so that Advent's promise has room to fill us, to take root in our hearts. God in our souls. Eternity unveiled.
During Lent, we fast from the things that clutter our lives and crowd our relationship with God. Voskamp writes:
Yes. To empty the soul...
So we chose this Lent to dispossess ourselves of the things that absorb our energy and time. Namely, our stuff. We have too much of it. We buy too much of it. We waste our time storing and organizing it. And there are people all around us without the means to provide basic needs to their families, much less all the extra things we enjoy.
The irony, I've discovered, is that letting go of these things requires energy and time, too. So we take baby steps. This past week,
We purged:
5 boxes of clothes: maternity clothes recycled to my sister who is expecting her first; hand-me-downs given to the girls that are still too big on them, loaned to a friend who can use them right away.
1 bag of stuffed animals: heading to the Dominican Republic with a middle school student who will distribute them to orphans during his mission trip.
We cleaned:
I emptied the linen closet to discover that half its contents had no other purpose than to fall on my head every time I pull a fresh towel out. Out went the clutter! Some linens still good will go to the Salvation Army thrift store, some tattered to the rag pile, some to storage until the day when we use such luxuries as place mats again.
We renounced:
I've decided that all unnecessary shopping is on hold until after Easter. That means, no clothing purchases, no extra household items, limits on overspending at the grocery store. (This does not include eating out--something Mark and I occasionally do to maintain our sanity as a couple, nor does it include the sometimes trip to D&D for a quick pick me up or Munchkin reward for my little munchkins.) When I get the itch for some retail therapy, usually when I need a little me time away from the kids, I've been jogging instead. It's a good time to reflect on my day, pray, or just let the sound of my feet on pavement numb the day's stress.
I've also decided to let my magazine subscriptions run out for now. I love light reading and paging through the photos, but most of the magazines I get make me feel like I have to keep up--with fashion, food trends, DIY projects. And I can't keep up. Nor do I want to right now; I'd rather keep up with my Littles. And some days I don't even do a very good job of that.
We already failed:
Yes. I confess. I returned a coat for Mark only to pick up a picture frame. It's still in my trunk, under a blanket. On Sunday, I met my parents at our favorite specialty food store, halfway between my house and theirs. It was our swap point so they could take the girls the rest of the way north. Forgive me, I couldn't walk out of the place empty handed--some things we needed, others were extras we could have lived without, like tomato paste in a resealable tube--the most ingenious invention since pre-sliced bread. It'll cut down on waste, right? Right.
We succeeded:
Every purchase I've made in the last week, even groceries, I've thought twice about. Do I need it? Is there another way to make it, other than buying it prepackaged? And if so, do I have time for the extra prep it will require? If I buy it, how much will I use it? If I don't, how much will I miss it? My new line is: If you buy that, where will you put it? Do you really want it using your space? If it's not food, the answer is usually, No.
I write all this with the gnawing feeling that our rules might be mistaken for self-help or legalism rather than spiritual renewal. Yes, we need help revising our consumer habits, but we aren't hoarders and we don't actually spend that much if you want to crunch numbers. We have a tiny television and no cable. Mark and I share a cell phone. We have the SLOWEST Internet service short of dial up. We bought our sound system piecemeal at garage sales. Our kids wear hand me downs. Heck, I wear hand me downs sometimes! Emelyn rides the same beat up bike I rode when I was her age--though I must confess this is more a matter of nostalgia than practicality. We drive one nicer car and an old beater. Our house is 1200 square feet. We're doing OK.
So why all the fuss?
Because like it or not, much of our lives are still driven by an economy of consumption. And consumption has never proven itself a good way to work out the Christian faith. We have a better story to write. What about an economy of giving? What would that look like? How would it form us? Could emptying our closets and changing our habits be a way of emptying ourselves for a bigger, better work God has cut out for our family?
Well, that's what we're hoping to find out.
Advent is expectation, waiting for the fulfillment of promise, waiting for the physical presence of Immanuel, God with us; God in the landscape; God in real time.
Lent is preparation, emptying out so that Advent's promise has room to fill us, to take root in our hearts. God in our souls. Eternity unveiled.
During Lent, we fast from the things that clutter our lives and crowd our relationship with God. Voskamp writes:
“Lent isn’t about forfeiting as much as it’s about formation. We renounce to be reborn....It’s about this: We break away to become.”
“Don’t think of Lent as about working your way to salvation. Think of it as working out your salvation.”
It is an irrefutable law: one needs to be dispossessed of the possessions that possess — before one can be possessed of God.
Let the things of this world fall away so the soul can fall in love with God. God only comes to fill the empty places and kenosis is necessary – to empty the soul to know the filling of God.
Yes. To empty the soul...
So we chose this Lent to dispossess ourselves of the things that absorb our energy and time. Namely, our stuff. We have too much of it. We buy too much of it. We waste our time storing and organizing it. And there are people all around us without the means to provide basic needs to their families, much less all the extra things we enjoy.
The irony, I've discovered, is that letting go of these things requires energy and time, too. So we take baby steps. This past week,
We purged:
5 boxes of clothes: maternity clothes recycled to my sister who is expecting her first; hand-me-downs given to the girls that are still too big on them, loaned to a friend who can use them right away.
1 bag of stuffed animals: heading to the Dominican Republic with a middle school student who will distribute them to orphans during his mission trip.
We cleaned:
I emptied the linen closet to discover that half its contents had no other purpose than to fall on my head every time I pull a fresh towel out. Out went the clutter! Some linens still good will go to the Salvation Army thrift store, some tattered to the rag pile, some to storage until the day when we use such luxuries as place mats again.
We renounced:
I've decided that all unnecessary shopping is on hold until after Easter. That means, no clothing purchases, no extra household items, limits on overspending at the grocery store. (This does not include eating out--something Mark and I occasionally do to maintain our sanity as a couple, nor does it include the sometimes trip to D&D for a quick pick me up or Munchkin reward for my little munchkins.) When I get the itch for some retail therapy, usually when I need a little me time away from the kids, I've been jogging instead. It's a good time to reflect on my day, pray, or just let the sound of my feet on pavement numb the day's stress.
I've also decided to let my magazine subscriptions run out for now. I love light reading and paging through the photos, but most of the magazines I get make me feel like I have to keep up--with fashion, food trends, DIY projects. And I can't keep up. Nor do I want to right now; I'd rather keep up with my Littles. And some days I don't even do a very good job of that.
We already failed:
Yes. I confess. I returned a coat for Mark only to pick up a picture frame. It's still in my trunk, under a blanket. On Sunday, I met my parents at our favorite specialty food store, halfway between my house and theirs. It was our swap point so they could take the girls the rest of the way north. Forgive me, I couldn't walk out of the place empty handed--some things we needed, others were extras we could have lived without, like tomato paste in a resealable tube--the most ingenious invention since pre-sliced bread. It'll cut down on waste, right? Right.
We succeeded:
Every purchase I've made in the last week, even groceries, I've thought twice about. Do I need it? Is there another way to make it, other than buying it prepackaged? And if so, do I have time for the extra prep it will require? If I buy it, how much will I use it? If I don't, how much will I miss it? My new line is: If you buy that, where will you put it? Do you really want it using your space? If it's not food, the answer is usually, No.
I write all this with the gnawing feeling that our rules might be mistaken for self-help or legalism rather than spiritual renewal. Yes, we need help revising our consumer habits, but we aren't hoarders and we don't actually spend that much if you want to crunch numbers. We have a tiny television and no cable. Mark and I share a cell phone. We have the SLOWEST Internet service short of dial up. We bought our sound system piecemeal at garage sales. Our kids wear hand me downs. Heck, I wear hand me downs sometimes! Emelyn rides the same beat up bike I rode when I was her age--though I must confess this is more a matter of nostalgia than practicality. We drive one nicer car and an old beater. Our house is 1200 square feet. We're doing OK.
So why all the fuss?
Because like it or not, much of our lives are still driven by an economy of consumption. And consumption has never proven itself a good way to work out the Christian faith. We have a better story to write. What about an economy of giving? What would that look like? How would it form us? Could emptying our closets and changing our habits be a way of emptying ourselves for a bigger, better work God has cut out for our family?
Well, that's what we're hoping to find out.
love sara..absolutely love.
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