Breaking Out

An hour ago my son brought his piggy bank to the couch. Now the pig is on his back, feet to the sky, with a hole in his belly. The plastic plug that belongs in the hole is next to him, filled with lotion. Yes, lotion. Lotion, of course. Piggy has other new, fun neighbors- a used lint roller sheet, a birth announcement, and a pack of oil blotter papers. The neighborhood has gone to hell. In one hour.

I do not understand this strange law, but it is undeniable. Stuff attracts stuff, multiplies. Whether it's the stuff of material things or words. If I set an envelope on my kitchen table and blink I'll have a paper mountain. If I make a simple rule I'll find myself on Amazon searching for a five inch thick binder to contain the supporting articles.  If I whip up one little lie an army of them will march from my lips- reinforcements.

This law applies to good stuff, too. A sparkling table is likely to stay clean longer, but let's face it. Bad stuff is much more efficient. And it's the bad stuff that robs us. Of joy. Of time. Of peace. From papers & kitchen gadgets to the lies we believe about God & what He expects of us. For many, many years I've moved all this junk around with me, from city to city, state to state. Cleaning around the external messes, letting dust settle on the internal ones.

Recently I was bitten. Some strange hey-you-don't-have-to-live-this-way bug. I began tossing out long-held erroneous beliefs. And ill-fitting underwear. Almost immediately I started singing a little louder, a little more often. I love to sing. I'm not very good at it. But I loooove it. I am busting out of my stuff cell, bit by bit, and the freedom is (oh, honey!) sweet.