As anyone who has attempted to de-clutter their life knows, simplicity can be complicated. It involves tackling not only the accumulation of stuff—those bins of college syllabi, old magazines, childhood treasures—but extra tasks we’ve taken on, organizations we’ve joined, the demands other people make on us, and all the clutter in our minds.
I remember one of the biggest
decluttering jobs I ever undertook. It was over 25 years ago. After more than
75 years of service, the Friends Mission officially pulled out of Bolivia,
leaving behind a national church of over 200 congregations with its own
leadership, forms, and finances. It was time. Hal and I were the last
missionaries on the field, so our task was deciding what to do with 75 years of
accumulated mission files.
The first phase required that we
decide what to keep, which basically came down to legal documents and records
that had historical significance: correspondence, yearly financial reports,
minutes, working agreements, and so on. Since most of this history took place
before the internet and safe-keeping in the Cloud, that meant boxes of paper.
After setting aside the keeper
documents, we had to deal with reams of minutia. We were overwhelmed with stuff,
from multiple mimeographed copies of some class a missionary gave, to receipts
for bottles of aspirin. We decided to shred the minutia, bag it, and let the
municipal garbage service haul it off. That became our job description: sort,
shred, bag.
As I sat on the rug shredding,
many thoughts came to mind. I remembered that all these pieces of paper were
related to real people and real situations. Long financial worksheets reminded
me of the economic crisis of the 1980s when run-away inflation caused many of
our Bolivian friends to lose their life-savings. The medical receipts brought
forth images of Vicente and Arturo, Friends pastors who literally gave their
lives in the service of the gospel.
I was impressed by the integrity
all the receipts and reports represented. Every thing was accounted for and
recorded. I also thought about all the trees that were sacrificed to maintain
such integrity.
And I reflected on the values this task represented. I noted how one person’s garbage can be another person’s treasure. I observed how the bags of shredded paper we put in front of our gate almost always disappeared before the garbage truck arrived. Apparently a local industry was finding this stuff useful as packing material. It was cheaper than plastic bubbles. This made me feel a little better about the trees.
But mostly I reflected on the
value of simplicity. It felt good. As the accumulation of paper lessoned, I
felt relief. And today, too, whether it’s clearing out closets or the
refrigerator, cleaning my desktop, simplifying my schedule, or re-ordering my
priorities, the resulting sense of lightness and rightness makes it worth the
effort.
I also reflected on the fact that,
as mentioned above, simplicity is complicated. That’s a great oxymoron. None of
this is easy or automatic. Simplicity is not simple. To let the stuff in my
files or on my desk accumulate takes no effort whatsoever. Bringing order out
of chaos does. It requires time, energy, organization, wisdom, and generosity,
a willingness to give away what might be useful to someone else.
Recently as I was walking the
labyrinth our Friends meeting has constructed in an adjacent field, I found
myself repeating a simple prayer: “You are my life. You are my life.” It was as
though God was reeling me in, bringing me back to the basic simplicity of soul
from which all else flows. I found myself asking, with the psalmist, “Whom have
I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire beside you” (Psalm 73).
I felt God reminding me that simplicity begins in the heart. It flows from a life oriented to the source of all life, from the deep knowledge that in God alone we “live and move and have our being.” That’s basic to Christianity, yet somehow I keep forgetting.
As I walked that path, I began to
affirm, “Above all relationships—husband, children, grandchildren, friends—you
are my life. Above all I possess or hold on to for security—my car, my books,
my insurance policies, my investments—you are my life. Above all the
intangibles I cling to—my health, my education, my achievements, my talents, my
rights, my dreams—you are my life.” And I found myself praying, “Oh, Lord. Let
it be. Change my heart. Keep reeling me in to yourself.”
I am sensing that only when I live
from the simplicity of a life oriented to God can I move freely into the world
as God’s agent of reconciliation and peace.
When will I start remembering this
so much that I live by it? When will this attitude become a holy habit?
Prayer: “Take from our souls
the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy
peace.” (John Greenlead Whittier)
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