Wanderers and sojourners

As humans we get attached to things. We want to hold onto our memories, helped by objects with sentimental value, we want to save things "just in case" we'll need them in the future.

I was relieved when our house in Scotland sold last year.  Being in Nigeria whilst having responsibility for a 100 year old house in Scotland was not always a happy situation.  It felt great to be free of the responsibility for council tax, mortgage, boiler repairs, frozen pipes etc.  Friends cleared the place for us and stored many boxes in their attic until we came back to go through them.

Reducing your worldly possessions to a few boxes is a painful process.  There are many times I've thought "What if we have to set up home in the UK again? Perhaps I'll need that."  I really don't want to get rid of all the examples of the children's early artwork or of my own past.  Think about all the memories in your attics; imagine having to reduce them to a small fraction of what they were.

There's a spiritual dimension to my feelings.  We like the comfort blanket of the possessions that remind us of who we are, who we were and where we came from.  At church on Sunday we read Paul the prisoner's letter to Philemon.  Not only did the theme of reconciliation tie well with the account I gave later of the work I'm doing in Jos but it struck me that Paul probably didn't have a load of boxes in a friend's attic.  He travelled light, relying on God to provide and retain the memories that should be kept.

It's a hard step on the road to sanctification. I mustn't be like the rich young ruler who was so attached to his possessions that he wouldn't let go of them to follow when Jesus called.  It's things with sentimental value I'm wanting to keep rather than riches, but what is important? For the future I trust God to provide as he always has so abundantly.  Logically I shouldn't find it so hard to let some things go.  Perhaps the lesson that's being especially brought home to me now is that we are strangers and sojourners in this world.  I've felt it to some degree in my travels but it becomes particularly real when you're having drastically to cull the things that you've lived with.  In some respects having them all destroyed in a fire would've been easier.  It feels slightly similar to the scene in Voyage of the Dawn Treader when Eustace turns from dragon back to boy.  He feebly pulls away the first layer of scales but the real transformation requires a deep and painful stripping of all that's extraneous.  Many people go through this in a far more violent fashion as war and famine force them from their homes.  Many people don't have places to keep even the few things they've managed to save.  I'm very conscious of all the things I still have. I do have places to keep the "essential" boxes and even if they were all destroyed I would still have everything I need.  I pray that I'll be content to travel light through life. Philippians 3:8.