Rachelle and I are on a weird marriage retreat. Sacred Hearts Ministry is hosting our third weekend in a year with a dozen other couples, here at a hotel in
It is simply delicious.
One of my chief complaints about my life is its clutter. When I walk around my home wading through a sea of jumbled toy parts, jettisoned matchless footwear, and random princess accessories, I get a sort of material claustrophobia. When I walk my way through the schedule of a typical evening with the princesses who claim all that stuff, I feel that same cramped chaos in the realm of time. Reviewing a month’s budget, I see the clutter of expenses and wonder, “How can I clean this up? Isn’t there something I can simplify?” More difficult yet, even a cursory scan of my brain reveals a monumental mess. (Another David Wilcox fave describes this: Inside of My Head)
This weekend is simple. The space and time here—unlike so much else in our cup-runneth-over lives—are clean. Like a song too good to be overproduced, this weekend promises to be true to its melody—acoustic, unplugged, organic.
That’s what I need. Because as much as I gripe about clutter, the clutter is in my life because I allow it there, even need it there. I create clutter in my mind, in my schedule, in my heart. I may lionize the Amish, but I am still a sucker for a chance to complicate my soul with words, news, thoughts, events, technology and stuff.
So what will I do this weekend without it? Here’s what I hope to do:
- Restore my appetite for silence
- Renew my thirst for God
- Reconnect my heart to Rachelle’s
My schedule, my budget, my heart need de-cluttering. The space and time are here. God always has been. All I need now is the courage to let Him clean house.