Recently, I read a story in Reader’s Digest (great magazine, no?) about a woman who lost custody of her children, was evicted from her home, and had to go to therapy/rehab because she was… in essence… a pack rat. It sounds crazy, but she couldn’t throw anything away. Her house was filled with old newspapers, bags of clothes, and rundown furniture. There was no room to grow or breathe. I read this story and I couldn’t help but think… who let’s this happen…
Hello, my name is Valentina Wysocki and I am an emotional pack rat.
I hold on to the good and the bad, cluttering the hallways of my mind and my heart until there is no room: No room to grow. No room to breathe. No room for God. It may sound silly. But I laugh a lot less when I am tripping over a box of junior high insecurities thinking, why haven’t I thrown that away yet! I like to think I am a forgiving person. Yet, I can still remember playground taunts and hurtful words from my mother. I like to think I am an overall happy person. But the truth is I tend to pack anything that would hurt me away, deep into the recesses of me, and just let myself seem happy. That is not what God has called me to be. My joy should be an authentic product of freedom. My identity should be in walking as God’s daughter, defined by Him alone. The experiences of this world cannot and should take up space where God’s grace, conviction, and love should be. In seeing this side of myself, I have learned that in order to let self die you to have to fight with it. You have to grapple with the piles of issues that haven’t been addressed, work through the boxes of lies you don’t remember putting back there, and air out the childhood memories of sleeping in late and playing in the rain. In order to DIE to self, you have to KNOW yourself and surrender that completely to our Lord. So if anyone is interested I am having a rummage sale. Half off on all used insecurities and a two for one deal on all clothes from the eighties—side ponytails and all. Any buyers?
