After seven months of bumping around on my hip every day, my ruffly pistol messenger bag bit the dust last week. I was in the middle of several custom craft projects, and I was feeling like the to-do list chalked up on my blackboard was written in permanent ink. But I needed a new purse. . . so one night I set to cutting out some of my favorite linen from a simple pattern and dreaming up a pretty embellishment. I finished this on Tuesday
and when I tried to transfer what I'd been carrying around with me all winter in my last bag, it didn't come close to fitting.
I emptied it all out and snapped a photo, thinking I'd write all about how I always carry everything I might need for any situation, like a 21st Century lady McGyver or that woman on the Seinfeld episode with the spare pantyhose. But the more I thought about it and carried that image around with me in my mind this week, I've realized that the stuff spilled out across my desk is more like a metaphor for the clutter in my life.
What do I need to edit out so it all fits perfectly into the life God has designed for me? I'm pretty sure I can get rid of that tape measure I use to measure myself up to others . . . check . . . how about that hand sanitizer that keeps the worry at bay? . . . check . . . the eyeliner and lipstick in the cosmetic bag to cover up my insecurity . . . check . . . the penny-pinching-granny coin purse where I hoard those extra minutes of time for myself and my work instead of giving it generously . . . check . . . maybe now there will be more room for the necessities: a package of tissues to wipe away a little girl's tears shed when her Momma has to run off to work, a container of vitamins and pills that work just like Scripture does to keep our spirit healthy or offer a word of healing, and a set of keys to lock up the guilt that has gathered and settled like lint in the bottom of it all.
Tonight I'm brewing one of those Melaleuca tea bags to help soothe the cold I've developed while trying to do it all, and tomorrow I'll carry my ragged old Target bag that fits ever-so-comfortably over my shoulder and carries everything I might need to just be me (and maybe fix a run in my tights).
