Nope, I get it now. Sometimes removing things and people from your life is painful, like feels-as-if-you’re-loosing-yourself painful. I’ve known this; I just forgot it sometime recently…ish… Not sure when. Probably because I’ve been holding on to things so hard for so long. I wasn’t being “mushified”; my fingers were being forcibly unclenched, the clam-like shells of my mind had to be pried open to the idea of not needing everything that surrounded me – the people, the places, but mostly the routines and the stuff.
I didn’t grow up with much. I mean, I grew up in the United States, and my parents had a house, and a car each, so we had PLENTY. But I grew up with my mother always saying there wasn’t enough money, and I grew up attending a private school (my parents taught there, which is the only way they afforded it) where all my friends pretty much always got what they wanted. They never had to shop deals, or deal with shoes that were too small for a season. And they didn’t have to go camping on their family vacations since their parents could pay for hotels. So it didn’t feel like we had plenty.
AND….I have this creative mind that sees a fun, potential project in literally everything. Plus, I like having stuff on-hand to give to others who might need it.
So, with the creative-potential side of me, and the grew-up-with-an-impoverished mindset, sometimes I give my kids too much stuff. And I forget to get creative if our family has a need, and instead I just buy…whatever it is I think we need. A certain at-my-fingertips-gigantic store has enabled this. My fault- using it that way, not its fault.
So, we have too much stuff, and we were probably doing too much. And it was stressing me out. And I prayed to live a slightly simpler life…I just didn’t think through the potential pain in the implications of this particular prayer.
But God knew, and I guess God agreed that a slightly simpler life might be a good idea. So He helped out. And it hurt for a bit.
But now, NOW, I can walk into the living room where the kids’ toys are and sigh in relief. It’s a peaceful space. Sure, there are still toys and books, but there’s space. Now I’m working on our room, our privatest space. I want it to have margins too – extra space. Peace.
I think seminary was the first place I heard the term “margins” referring to time, not just the edges of a paper. I liked the idea. I’ve always filled the margins of my life – from hearts and curlicues on the edges of middle school worksheets, to adding another club or activity every year in high school, to having practically no margin in college – along with some very pretty, impressive doodles in my college notebooks (side note – I feel sorry for the kids today who only take notes on their computers; it’s much harder to doodle there. Class notes must be boring to look at when studying.)
But margins are important. Margins allow you space to be more spontaneous – to have that neighbor over, to take that walk, to have that important conversation with your child or spouse. Margins allow you room to listen to the Spirit and follow where He leads. Margins allow you to not always be in a rush, or dictated by a minute-by-minute schedule.
It was excruciating, having to build margins in – probably will be for a while as I get used to this lifestyle. But (I can already tell)
worth
it.
In His Chrysalis 