Last Sunday, our pastor was admiring someone's faithfulness and mentioned her prayer closet. "I don't even have a prayer closet," he confessed. "Well, we only have three closets in the whole house," his wife whispered. Thought bubbles began popping above my head, blocking the vies of those sitting behind me.
"We have -- how many? -- closets! Why don't I have a prayer closet?"
"I don't have a prayer closet because our closets are full."
"Our closets are full of stuff. Are you telling me I don't have a prayer closet because of stuff?"
"Why am I allowing stuff to determine -- maybe even hinder -- my prayer life?"
The following morning, the cleanout began. Honestly, I travel fairly lightly. Clothes are my greatest possession because of the many hats I wear. Schleppy mom. Cleaner and garden grunt. Athlete. Business professional. Sunday school teacher and far-too-frequent funeral goer. But I was determined to bite the bullet: "If I don't give God these things now, what makes me think I will give them to Him later? I can always find reasons to keep stuff."
Before the day was over, I had two full drawers and a closet shelf. "Now, how to move things from hangers and the closet floor to open spaces?"
The next three days yielded little progress. There was cooking to do, and Mom's birthday, and -- finally -- beautiful weather that drove us out of doors. Friday was the phone call. Two children needed immediate foster care. We'd had a warning. Weeks ago. It could happen. But this is the government, right? "We'll be there in an hour," she said.
So, here I am, at something AM, holding the youngest child as he is teething; I am weeping, and thanking God for the blessing of two drawers and an entire shelf -- room to hold their stuff.
May God hold their hearts.
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