Thank You for the Dollhouse

He is bringing me to surrender.

And while I spout words and thoughts about freeing my heart to Jesus on a regular basis, surrender is a difficult place for me. Sure, I'll surrender my worship, surrender my words. I'll surrender time for Scripture reading and some crumpled bills for the offering plate.

But what about stuff? Comfort? The redefining of need?

Back in January (or was it February?), I pegged this the "year of home."

Home.

It has come/is coming to mean something other than what I thought it would, as these things usually do. Adoption. Moving. Again. Paring down. Letting go.

We get keys to our new place in 16 days, a townhouse on the university campus with faded pink paint and a blue door like the one on my daughter's plastic dollhouse. There is a clipboard on the front door for family game night flyers and street sweeper notices, clothing exchange announcements and resident-only softball league signups. Our next-door neighbor is crafty, if the Halloween swarm of paper bats and a cardstock moon fastened across her front door and window is any indication, so I wish like a 6-year-old that she will be my friend. Maybe we will ride bikes to school together.

The usual new house excitement and chaos is underway now and all the preparations loom ahead. Except that it's more of a stateroom than a house, really. Part apartment, part dormitory, part submarine berth, part communal abode. Our new back porch is wide open to the grassy common play space and I'm about to have all manner of neighborhood children up in here, up in here.

I wonder whether we'll be able to fit very much more than a couple of forks and some warm bodies into the dollhouse with us. The dimensions of the dining room are actually smaller than the dimensions of our dining table, without any chairs. I call about borrowing a saw to hack two feet off the ends off my brand new dining table, a handmade anniversary gift from my husband. I am nothing if not determined, and resourceful.

But the line between need and want is a dashed and dotted one, I think, and life with four forever children means a hard process of purging the comforts I've always treated as deal-breakers. The dollhouse has no dishwasher, for instance. No washer/dryer hookups either. I am accustomed to clean laundry piles that reach my chin, a daily soundtrack of washing machine chugging and spinning, and the truth is, I don't really want to spend half my hours in a coin-op Laundromat with my neighbors. I don't want to end up with someone else's underwear by mistake and have to locate the rightful owner. I don't want to be a goldfish in a glass bowl again, inviting people in when my floors have crumbs and my sink is full because I have no dishwasher, and my kid is covered in purple marker. I don't want to revisit all the boundary-crossing that happens when you live in community, blurring those lines between yours, mine, and ours. 

But it's time I did.

It makes me worried, the thought of giving up so much of my stuff. But I'm grateful for the process, grateful for the paring away of internal, emotional clutter that comes alongside getting rid of the things I think I need simply because I like them. Grateful we'll be part of a culture again and that letting go of things often means making room for people.

So as I try to downsize, it's with that end in mind: blessing people, making room, living in community. Though I've taken a few sizeable car loads to Goodwill already, I'm aiming to be more intentional about finding needs to meet with our excess rather than merely discarding or selling it. There is something about giving it away that energizes and brightens so much more than simply giving it up. Furnishing the new home of a friend who had to leave everything behind, bundling up extra toys for the foster babies to bring along with them when they leave, adding resources to the church library… it is all His way of turning paring down into building up.

And the truth is, I can't wait for the dollhouse. To be stepping on the toes of my family all day, piling up together on the day bed we'll be using as a couch, rubbing elbows with my neighbors at Taco Night, tossing scraps in the complex compost pile to feed the community garden that will feed us too. I can't wait to wonder aloud about Jesus over a pint with the girl in my algebra class and meet my babies for lunch in a crowded student union. To learn. To grow. To live with less.

It's appropriate, I think, that we are moving in over the Thanksgiving holiday. The time for gratitude is here. 

Stuff-less

Photo Source: Pinterest.

I am living out of a suitcase.  

My three children are sharing a full-size bed and just about all of our belongings are shoved in a 10’ x 20’ storage unit, balanced dangerously and teetering hither and yon.  To make it worse, we unloaded the moving truck in the dark and several of the items that were meant to stay out of storage (um, like, checkbooks and passports, business cards and stamps, conference tickets and cute dresses and school supplies) were packed away and buried in the rubble... and no luck so far on trying to retrieve any of it without completely unpacking the darn thing.

This is unnerving, especially because, after much scramble regarding employment here in Oregon, we’ve determined that, although we are blessed beyond measure to both be gainfully employed (and for me to work at home – hallelujah!), for several reasons, we’re better off staying put at my mother-in-law’s house for awhile.

Like, staying a few months when I was really banking on (and packing for) a few weeks.

I am having a hard time rolling with the punches on this one.

Not because I don’t like being here.  Actually, I love, love, love my in-laws and couldn’t really think of any place I’d rather have to shack up like teenage parents (which, for the record, we're decades away from being).  But living in someone else's home goes against my very strong instinct to nest (no, I’m not pregnant) and putz about, fluffing this and straightening that, hanging curtains and wall decor, introducing my DIY-creations to their proper locations... and making a home.  And my guilty conscience makes it hard to feel like I'm okay here, that I'm not being a burden, or stepping on toes, or creating a hassle for anyone. 

The antidote to living in transition is, for me, to settle down and make a home.

Alas, I cannot.

This year, I will probably not get to decorate my home for Christmas.  I will not bake in my own kitchen, or set up my office to watch my kids run around the back yard while I work.  I will find, several times every day, that the outfit or nail polish or legal document I desperately need is packed away and I’ll have to live without it.

A few tears were shed when I realized that my Bible, devotional, current Bible study, and favorite commentary also managed to get (accidentally) packed away.  Six days without my Bible was remedied by six bucks at a local bookstore, and had me sniffing the pages and holding the thing close to my heart, soaking up the Scriptures even with closed covers, filling with the words inside like osmosis, gripping the paperback make-do like the precious possession that it is.

I’ll be heading to Relevant ’11 in a few weeks, and, bummer, despite my plans for a put-together-girl on display, it looks like I’ll have to head out there with just the comfy clothes I had packed for a few weeks at grandmas.  No high heels.  No cute jewelry.  Some jeans, my camera, and a pair of gray Chuck Taylor’s are about all I’ll wind up there with, I’m afraid.  You’ll love me anyway, won’t you?

I’m taking the opportunity to prove to myself all the things I can live without when I really need to, to count it blessing that we have this opportunity and that our belongings are only temporarily in storage and not incinerated in a house fire, or vandalized in a burglary.  It’s all only stuff, after all.  So I’ll rejoice in less cooking and house cleaning for the time (since I have others to share that responsibility with here).  It will be good for my soul, too, to go to Relevant without knowing anyone, and wearing no disguise – just me, myself, and my Chucks to show y’all the real Slim Shady Whimsy Smitten, in my grubby-girl finest.  Something tells me I’ll be welcomed with open arms anyway, and that, my friends, will do a girl good.

Counting, still numberless, today, all the gifts that keep on giving.  Linking up with Ann, and all the others counting, counting away. 

-          Husband, hired!

-          Starting work myself soon (later this week, probably).

-          The graciousness of my in-laws.

-          Our anniversary on Thursday, six years of marriage, ten years together.

-          Reading A Confident Heart by Renee Swope.

-          An opportunity to learn more about simplicity.

-          Conference tickets that are re-printable.

-          Being able to afford a plane ticket to Pennsylvania and a hotel room at Relevant, even while being in between jobs and during a tight financial time for us.

-          A beautiful drive this weekend, soaking up the beauty here I’ve missed for so long.

-          Discovering an omission error in my husband’s veteran’s benefits documentation that will be $150 in our favor every single month for the rest of my husband’s life.

-          My kids absolutely loving being at their new/old school.

-          Hot, middle-of-the-afternoon coffee, and weather chilly enough to enjoy it.

-          So much peace and family time, lately.

-          My kids, getting to spend time on a regular basis now with their grandparents and great-grandparents.

-          Our boys back in Texas, apparently doing okay with the transition of new houseparents.

-          Returning to our home church again yesterday.

-          Big, busy dinners, full of laughter… and lots of leftovers.  

-          Provision, in all the ways it comes. 

When You've Lost Your Muchness

Photo Source

“You’re not the same as you were before.  You were much more “muchier”.  You’ve lost your muchness.”

So says The Mad Hatter to Alice in Wonderland.

And it resonates because I too have lost my muchness.  I think sometimes it’s just slipped away…melted… when I lack inspiration and the energy just won’t come to create or tell stories or do the things I know I was created for.  But it didn’t melt.  I see now that like an avalanche my muchness has been buried, rubble-topped and stunted deep beneath… my muchness.

Stay with me here.

The valuable muchness that I have been given, and yours too – the vibrant soul full of life and words and gifts for the sharing collapses so often between the muchness of life – piles of stuff and lists and emails, things to clean and things to store and things to buy.  And the muchness of life is suffocating, sometimes – the life that pulses with the Spirit and love and all things magic and miracle gets buried beneath the keeping up of the life that no one ever designed us for.

Have you lost your muchness?

Are you, too, gasping for grace-swirled air beneath the rubble pile of the rat race?

The Lord is keeping me up at night with a laundry list of the things in my life I need to let go of in order to make room for the abundance waiting outside my door.  Things, obligations, expectations, and even ideas.

There is muchness within me, waiting to get out, kept prisoner by an entirely different kind of muchness.

And so, I begin a journey of release, of letting go of the muchness I hold in my hands to be full of a muchness that arouses my soul, awakens the life of abundance that we’re all designed to have.

  

Where in your life can you let go, today?  What can you surrender to make room for that which is so much more? 

Get Empty... to Get Full

The Gypsy Mama asks us to join her this Five Minute Friday, where we just write for 5 minutes, without regard to whether it’s just right.  I do love a soul that embraces imperfection.  Join us, would you?

Today’s prompt:  Full.

GO

My head is full.  Full of information and schedules and things I’m supposed to remember but are stuck somewhere between synapses, trapped in the gridlock that is my brain.  My heart is in similar condition – packed up with cares and causes, worries at the state of things, all my grand plans to save the world or at least one hurting person at a time.  I am full of their worries and my worries and joys and memories and the words of people that hurt me long ago. 

My home is full and mouth is full and memory and shopping cart and schedule and pantry and drawers and laundry baskets… all full.  Overflowing, even. 

And like an out-of-date computer, I sputter and try desperate to manage all of this, but numbers and signals get jammed up inside, bumper-to-bumper, and my eyes glaze over with a human error message:  “Memory full.  Data input overload.”

God has been dealing with me, lately, in my fullness, showing me that it’s all the wrong kind of data taking up the limited space within.  I am so full of data that I am crowding out the fullness of love and peace and the Holy Spirit. 

Haven’t I any room for the fullness of grace? 

It is time to purge.

Purge from my body and mind, my spirit and home, my mouth and closet and calendar.  Get empty, to get full.

Turn left to go right.

Get empty, to get full.

STOP