I clean out my room pretty regularly for an adult. I've lived a number of years now, so I've amassed quite a fortune of useless junk over time. What I haven't amassed in equal measure is the wealth with which I need to buy more land and space to contain said junk.
But one man's junk can sometimes also be the same man's treasure. I am intensely aware of the things that survive my regular purges -- shirts that I save more for sentiment than for use; paper bags I keep in memory of the precious gifts they carried; nonsensical trinkets that would compel Princess Ariel and I to become best buddies who trade by moonlight under the sea.
As we grow older, we pick up things and lose others. I struggle with losing things that have survived early instances of de-cluttering, because: they survived before for a reason! But I'm learning even now at 27 that a human heart can only carry so much before it's weighed down by moulding attachments that don't work any more. I can only let it go before it becomes infectious, turning my heart into a cold bitterness toward life.
And is it really that bad? There have been new things to hold dear to my heart, and there are still things that have been there from the start, and that still make so much sense even now. He is still so precious to me, His presence, and kindness, and goodness-- they are still so relevant and needed. Many things have passed, but You? Never. So I pray that even when my faith is wearied, and my heart, heavy and sluggish, I pray that You'll never stop making sense to me, and that I'll never walk away from the biggest Love Story of my life.
