Drop the Weight

Packing for eleven months was daunting; deliberating again and again what I deemed as essential, a luxury, or something I could pick up along the way.

Essentials include a couple outfits, a rain jacket and anti-nausea meds. Luxury items are my ukulele and my camera. Things I’m hoping to pick up along the way are a long dress (for India) and a patch from every country to sew onto my ukulele case.

Facing the reality of carrying everything I have on my back, I have to minimize. I can drop the weight of what I no longer need. As fun as a hair straightener or makeup can be, I don’t need them. As helpful as physical books over e-books can be, I can’t carry them all. In all honesty, I miss comfort. I miss my oversized sweatshirts that would have taken up half my pack. I miss the familiarity of holding Becoming by Michelle Obama as I read the last 100 pages on my phone’s Kindle app.

In the same breath, things are starting to bother me more than they normally would; my four outfits cause me heartache every time I think about the clothes going untouched in my closet in Seattle, the excess that is only taking up space, while some don’t have the luxury of options. My comfortable standards have been shaken, exposed, and now questioned. Am I depending wholly on Jesus? Is my mission being clouded by things with no eternal value?

In frustration, a quest against the injustice and the excess, I’m purging. I am dropping the weight of things I no longer need, no longer serve me well, and are just plain too heavy to carry: a book I finished (once I find the right person to give it to), a tube of sunscreen (why’d I bring two?) and a mug (if a place has coffee, they probably have mugs). The concept of reduction has never been mandatory for me, and that alone is holding me fast to the heart of Jesus.

Now, I’m on a roll: I’m also dropping the weight of non-physical things to make more room for Jesus. I’m dropping the weight of anxiety, control, and greed. I’m letting go of anxious thoughts and choosing to trust in the Lord (Matthew 6:31-34). I’m releasing control of scheduling out every day and being more present for what He has for me (Proverbs 27:1). I’m dropping the feeling of want – of things and experiences – knowing He satisfies my every need (Hebrews 13:5). I’m laying it all at the feet of Jesus and instead starving for more of Him.

I know, I probably sound dramatic. Here’s the intention: the less ‘stuff’ I have, the more room I have for Jesus. I’m getting myself out of the way to create more room for Christ to fill me up; as my ‘stuff’ decreases, the stuff that matters increases. I set a precedence of surrender and humility and am met with an emptiness that only He fills. The abstinence of stuff is a catalyst for Jesus’ unveiling, creating space for Him to move. Less of me, more of Him (John 3:30).

Here’s the thing: living out of a backpack has not caused the world to stop turning (so far). Ministry has commenced undamaged. I can live on a fraction and depend on Jesus for the rest. I don’t need the excess. I want to be so focused on what matters in the eternal that what I’m wearing doesn’t warrant mental space. I want to be less enticed by luxuries and more interested in justice. After all, opulence never impressed Jesus, he criticized religious leaders for their fancy robes (Luke 20:45-47).

So, how have I managed? Prayer. When I want to wear other clothes, I pray. I pray for the country, the people, their leaders, their children. Those who can’t afford clothes, those running the rat race for the ‘best’ clothes, and those without clothes of their own. I have prayed more during these days than I ever have, as I constantly feel a physical reminder to pray. I pray knowing His ministry is humble and one day we will feast at His table in splendor.

Jen Hatmaker said it best:

My slightly reduced life is still extraordinary in every way. There is no end to my advantages. For whatever reason, I was born into privilege; I’ve never known hunger, poverty, or despair. I’ve been blessed, blessed, blessed – relationally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. My life is so happy it’s almost embarrassing.

May my privileges continue to drive me downward to my brothers and sisters without. Greater yet, I’m tired of calling the suffering “brothers and sisters” when I’d never allow my biological siblings to suffer likewise. That’s just hypocrisy veiled in altruism. I won’t defile my blessings by imagining that I deserve them. Until every human receives the dignity I casually enjoy, I pray my heart aches with tension and my belly rumbles for injustice.

So, as I repack to travel to our next city, I am cognizant of what I am carrying. I’m packing my essentials: the steadfast Word of God, the luxury: for eyes to see and hears to ear the ways His heart breaks for this world, and what I’m hoping to pick up along the way: seeing chains break and Heaven come closer to Earth. The clothes and ukulele are still packed; but the freedom and Gospel mindset are taking up more space.

Join me in prayer: Lord, let us see more of You and less of us. Help us recognize that it’s not about US but about the marginalized we have been charged to serve. Search and know us, remove the self-obsession, apathy, and elitism. Release the worries or concerns from our hands and fill them with more of You. Strip the illusion of ownership and remind us that our gifts are to be shared and not defended. Open the floodgates of spiritual clarity, waste reduction, financial responsibility, and gratitude. Let humility and sacrifice guide our actions. Thank you for blessing us and help us to steward our blessings well. Amen.