I’m fascinated by the show Hoarders on A&E.
I don’t currently have access to cable in my home (in fact, the one dysfunctional television we own rarely plays movies anymore). But if I did have access to television, I would watch each and every episode (perhaps two or three times so as to hoard it).
According to the show’s site, each 60-minute episode of Hoarders is a fascinating look inside the lives of two different people whose inability to part with their belongings is so out of control that they are on the verge of a personal crisis.
I can’t take my eyes off of the screen the same way I can’t pull my eyes away from a car accident. It’s not delight. It’s not judgment. It’s not even curiosity.
It’s overwhelming sadness.
Matthew 6:19-21 says, Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
I love my home. I carefully clean and cultivate, sort and stack, primp and pitch. But it’s all a sort of head fake (you know–that move in basketball that prompts the opponent to think you’re about to toss the ball in one direction, when in reality you’re about to do something totally different).
The truth is this: my home management is less about my house and more about its occupants.
I can’t take the pantry with me.