You-Store-It, Part I

The basement has gotten out of hand again. Although it was a picture of perfect order last winter, during our chaotic year, it became everyone’s catch-all.

Last week Nelson built some custom shelves to organize one category of chaos: paint cans and paint clothes, brushes and turpentine, rollers and roller pans, scrapers and cutting tools, drop cloths and rags. After watching disorder give way to order,  I was eager to tackle other areas of basement chaos.

The giant shelves Nelson built last year have become overloaded and messy, although I can’t take full blame. When Louisa and Birgitta left their Chicago apartment to pursue studies in Hawaii and Iowa, all their possessions came to our basement. Then, after Nelson emptied his storage facility in Tennessee, that truck load of stuff also came toward Michigan but didn’t get past our driveway.

He assessed the basement with its narrow aisles winding between stacks of debris, and together we decided a small storage unit was the answer, at least for now. We gathered everything we wouldn’t need to see or touch for a year, as well as everything from Chicago and Nashville, and hauled it to the storage facility. How nice to see the basement floor again.

If I had to choose one word as a banner over my last five years it would be “packing.” And of course where there’s packing, there’s unpacking. The truth about the basement is that most of it belongs to me. Boxes and bins have been my constant companions, but I’m learning to ask, “How much of this should I save?”

I grew up under the influence of a Depression Era mother who kept a box marked, “Bits of string too short to save.” She once told me, “I could live off your garbage.”

Mom also collected the water from her wash machine and reused it to wash floors. She’d defend herself by saying, “During the Depression we couldn’t afford soap and had to make our own. This soapy water shouldn’t be wasted.”

She’d tell visitors, “If I find one pea on the floor, I make pea soup.” They thought she was kidding.

Although Mom had endless ways to save money, her Depression-logic moved her to save everything else, too. She was sure our shoes from 7th grade would be back in fashion soon. The plastic lid from a gallon of ice cream could be used as a Frisbee. Pencils could still write, even if they were too short to hold. Old rubber bands made wonderful dental floss.

Where’s the line between sensible and silly? I asked myself that question thousands of times as we downsized our old house and eliminated half of everything. After the move, we eliminated half again, and now the basement. Give away? Put away? Throw away? Handling and categorizing each item is exhausting.

So here we are again, having rented another storage unit, sorted through more stuff, filled more bins and relocated heaps of possessions. I know my kids’ things won’t stay long, and those aren’t what concern me. Instead, I’m looking critically at my own stockpiles. What’s worth keeping? What’s not?

As always, our practical Bible has the answer.

“Don’t store up treasures here on earth where moths eat them and rust destroys them and where thieves break in and steal.” (Matthew 6:19)

My Psalm of Surrender

God both gives and takes away.
Will I hold tight on take-away day?
I choose my plan instead of God’s;
It’s blessing-suicide, Christian fraud.

My thoughtful choice is often me,
Though Scripture details history
That tracks God’s ownership of all,
Unbridled power at his call.

Stubborn, prideful, dare I be?
It’s filthy sin. God would agree.
So what’s to do? Is there no hope?
I’m at the end of my frayed rope.

The only plan that yields success
And promises to clean this mess
Is stopping short and kneeling down,
Before my own sin makes me drown.

I crumble, cry and want just him.
I get it now. My mind’s not dim.
He gives and takes for just one purpose,
For our good, and not to hurt us.

Life on earth is one big test,
Losses, gains, my sins confessed.
I long to learn to go God’s way,
To make no plans by what I say.

God’s every move is made with flare.
I’m awed and can’t do more than stare.
When I relinquish my control,
He puts his peace inside my soul.

“Oh Father, let me try again
To be your daughter, be your friend.
I want you to be pleased with me
But know that this can never be…

Until I take a step you’ll show
Without demanding that I know
The total trip and where it’s going.
It’s yours alone to do that showing.

Remind me often, awesome Lord,
That you’re in charge. And I’ll lean toward
That one small step you let me see.
I give back all that you gave me.

My stress, my angst, my fear – they’re yours.
Please take those, too. My heart just soars,
As eagerly I wait and look
For signs of you. I’ll read your book.

I offer up this psalm today
And want to try to walk your way,
Surrendering my plans, my ways,
And walking your path all my days.

Psalm of Surrender

We all know the familiar Scripture passage from the Book of Job that’s been repeated so often people think it’s folklore: “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away.”

This verse is Job’s response to unspeakable loss: his ten children, his herds, his home, his employees and his health, all gone in just a few minutes. The loss of life alone was enough to overwhelm even the strongest believer in God.

The Lord still gives and takes away today. He took Nate from us but then gave us Micah, Evelyn and Thomas. He took our house in a sale that was necessary but then gave us the Michigan cottage full time. He took everything from Job but then gave it all back later.

That, however, isn’t always how it works.

Sometimes God takes from us in multiples (as he did from Job) but doesn’t give anything back. It’s never without good reason, but when we’re in a loss-phase that makes no sense, we plead with God to make it end.

Our family refers to the year 2005 as “the year of death” because of the six precious family members we lost in eight months. In January we traveled to California for the memorial service of my Dad’s brother, Uncle Edward. In mid-March, three died on the same weekend, one only 23 years old: my Aunt Joyce who mentored me, my cousin’s daughter Amy in a hit-and-run accident, and my mom’s brother, Uncle Jack. Two weeks later, on April 5, Mom died, and that summer my brother’s father-in-law also passed away. We wondered, “Who’s next?”

None of us could explain it then, nor can we now. But the alternatives are either to surrender to the mystery of what God is doing or trust in our own short-sightedness.

Sometimes the Lord asks us to undergo losses less significant than death but nevertheless important: a job, a house, a friendship, a boyfriend, money. My own family members experienced multiple losses in 2008-2009, even before Nate had cancer. One day during my prayer time I had nothing to say to God, no questions, no praises, no thank you’s.

As I sat completely depleted, not knowing what to do, he put a thought into my mind: “Write Me a Psalm.”

I wasn’t sure if it was my crazy idea or God’s good one. After looking at a few of the biblical Psalms, I realized many of them were written about losses: of reputation, health, friendships, power, safety, homes, physical strength and more. Although the Psalms were Spirit-inspired, if I wrote one it would be un-inspired. Still, I knew I could write something from my heart.

The biblical psalmist often began by detailing his burden of loss, but then ended with a personal surrender to God. I decided to follow that model and hoped my words would honor the Lord. And since the Book of Psalms is described as poetry, I also decided to use rhyme.

Tomorrow I’ll post my un-inspired but very sincere “Psalm of Surrender.”

“The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21)