Becky Kopitzke is a freelance writer and mom of two young daughters. On her blog, Time Out: Devotions for Moms, Becky examines the ordinary moments and mishaps of family life through the lens of faith—and with a healthy sense of humor.
My closet was ridiculous. “Cluttered” is a mild term—more like a black hole for outdated fashion and dust bunnies. The day I broke down and organized it, I unearthed artifacts from my honeymoon a decade ago—hey, beach sandals?! With Jamaican sand still stuck in the grooves, how nostalgic!
Shelves held neglected totes stuffed with diapers, college sweatshirts, and a gym bag full of yoga gear. I haven’t taken a yoga class since 2003.
“Mom, my nukkie!” My five-year-old discovered her old pacifier tucked in a purse pocket.
“Eeew! Don’t touch that!” I tossed the nuk into a garbage bag slumped on the floor, alongside a stack of clothes for charity.
Roomy clothes—affectionately called my fat pants.
Oh, come on, you know you have them, too. Fat pants, skinny pants—it doesn’t matter what size they are. The point is that they don’t fit anymore. They belong to an old version of the person whose closet they’ve been stashed in for too long.
Since the onset of sleep deprivation and toddler chasing, I shrunk a size or two. It’s temporary, I assume. When my steady diet of kiddie cuisine catches up with me (mac and cheese, yum), I might fit into those old clothes again. So I wavered. Should I keep the fat pants?
Just in case.
I mean, smaller jeans are nice, but they can’t possibly last forever. I might need a contingency plan.
That’s smart, right?
Let’s compare my closet to my heart. They’re both hoarding junk. In my closet, it’s the pants. In my heart, it’s fear. Anxiety. Doubts. Selfishness. Stuff that doesn’t fit as well the older and wiser I get. But I hold onto it anyway, just in case it comes in handy someday.
Just in case life gets heavy and I need to cover my butt.
Just in case this whole trusting God thing doesn’t pan out.
As if that could ever happen.
“And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose,” (Romans 8:28).
Plan B is a myth. There is a God in charge of the universe, working on our behalf to weave together all things—happiness and heartache—for our good. Somehow, in the end, his Plan A prevails. I don’t understand it completely, but my job is not so much to know how God works—it’s to know God. Period.
So. Let’s quit stockpiling those back-up plans. Toss the fat pants.
“Sweetie, can you lift this?” I handed my daughter a plastic sack stuffed with clothes. “You can help me load the car.”
“Where are we going?” She dragged the lumpy bag across the hallway. I smiled, grabbed the handles, and squeezed her pink fingers.
“We’re going to heaven someday, my love. But first—to the thrift store. We don’t need this stuff anymore.”
What are you hoarding in your heart today? Will you be brave and let it go?
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