Cluttered

My car is cluttered. Not just a little cluttered. Crowded actually. I couldn’t even tell you everything that rides along in my backseat. But I know there’s a tennis racket, a Tupperware bowl, a can of cappuccino mix, some old school papers, a banana peel, and an empty purse. Everything that is buried underneath those items remains a mystery. Some of the items I remember casting over the seat in an effort to make more room in the front, others I have no recollection of how or why they became my passengers. But for some reason, the messier my car gets, the less likely I am to clean it. It’s a major task now - a several-hour procedure – and I don’t take the time to get it done. Plus, I’m waiting for warmer weather.

I wonder if my heart is cluttered too. I wonder if I’m hauling around unnecessary passengers, some that I don’t even remember bringing aboard.

They won’t exit without my help. They won’t grow legs and walk away (Trust me, my dad ingrained this in me whenever his remote control went missing). And I might have to unbury some things to get to the bottom, slimy things even. I’ll need to pull up insecurity to see what’s underneath. And defensiveness – what made me bring that along? It’s time to throw the clutter in a brown bag and dispose of it.

And without the clutter, I’ll have something better in my “backseat” and in my heart – more room. Room for love to grow. Room for Christ to increase. Room for passengers on the journey. I’d rather have that than Tupperware bowls and slimy banana peels.