I hear the thud as the shed door crashes to the ground. The thick, handmade door fell off the hinges months ago. I prop it up, but the wind frequently knocks it down. I want to tear the whole thing down. Take everything out and start all over.

Boxes spill out books and clothes, paintings and pottery, craft supplies and toys. We’re living without it in the house. Can’t we live without it in the shed, too?

I close my mind’s eye to the exposed mess. I’ll shove the door upright later. Right now I’m reading while the happy chatter of children floats outside the window. Little heads bob past. I hear the scooter rolling on the concrete porch floor. The sound lulls me to sleep.

Moments later, I am shaken awake with an announcement of something cool. A little friend holds a rusty, drill-like hunk of metal in my face. I usher her back outside and instantly see why the scooter was going back and forth.

Has the shed been completely emptied?

Suitcases, stuffed animals, felt scraps and two bags of walnuts are strewn about. A smiling queen sits in a doll’s chair overlooking the mess. The rusty hunk of metal is now a walnut crusher. The birds will have a treat.

I feel asleep weighted down by a full belly. I feel the weight of this stuff, too. I thought we purged so well before the move, but I’m realizing we can do just fine with even less. Perhaps, even better with less. I’m tired of prying my fingers off paper, cloth, and sentimentals. I want to be free, unencumbered by spilling boxes and irrational attachments.

I am not ungrateful. I realize the stuff is a blessing, but am I prepared to deal with it? Can my character grasp hold of the truly significant and let go of the rest?

I sense the weight is not merely the physical things I’ve wrapped around my subconscious.

A trail of my own trash follows me: laziness, anger, pride.

Those horrible things cannot be packed in a box and shoved in the corner where they can be knocked over. They must be burned out of my being as a daily sacrifice.

I start carting the junk shop back into the shed realizing that I, too, am exposed. No wonder I hate that falling door so much. It is a reflection of my own mask. It is so easy to ignore the turmoil in my own heart in the busyness of motherhood and homeschool.

The moment I took to read on the couch is a rare thing. It is hard to let go of the guilt of sitting still. Things are out of place, but they always will be. There will always be boxes in a shed to sort. I can’t throw everything away and start all over. And would I really want to?

Some of the boxes contain tokens of memories. Some of them hold promises for the future.

No, it’s not the stuff that truly weighs me down. It’s my failures and my expectations. Who says sheds need to be clean? Who says I have to be busy every moment?

Maybe wisdom can teach me to do the most important things like loving God and my neighbor by using the gifts packed within me. If I spend more time with the boxes in my heart, I have a feeling the weight will slip away.

For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good–not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant), and My burden is light and easy to be borne. (Mathew 11:30. Amplified Bible)