Reality is this: I have an excessive attachment to my stuff. I could give you lots of reasons why this is the case, but the biggest reason is that over the course of the last 13 years, I had developed a poverty mentality and didn’t realize it. As we moved from house to house and city to city, I clutched every little possession tighter and tighter. My personal security wrapped itself around my stuff. I had begun to hoard as a way to relieve myself of the stress I felt in the constant uncertainty of my home life.
As we finally landed in IL after a failed attempt at life in TN, 95% of everything I had in the world stayed behind in Nashville. I almost lost my natural mind. Not a moment went by for 3 months that I didn’t ask about or say something referring to the things we had left behind. My fear levels skyrocketed. I ate everything in sight. I cried and punched walls. I obsessed over stuff that if sold wouldn’t get me more than $1,500 on the generous end. But I wanted my things–needed my things. You cannot know the amount of frustration I went through as every check disappeared before I’d had the deposit 24 hours. My resentment reached epic proportions, y’all. I secretly hated everybody for everything, including God. It was everybody’s fault that my life sucked and my stuff was slowly slipping from my grasps as the amount I owed kept going up. And up. And up.
I just couldn’t understand why we couldn’t just go get our stuff. I was stuck.
If you know anything about God, then you know God is real particular about that “no other gods” situation. There I was some 400 miles away from every blessed spoon, notebook, picture, and appliance I had squirreled away, and God yanked my chain. Hard. One night, I had a terrifying dream. I was running around my last place of employment with all my office boxes piled high on a dolly. Every time I would get a room and start unpacking, someone would come in and usurp the space with the words, “No, this is my room.” I went around to 3 different assignments before ending up out on the basketball court. There, my former boss cocked her head to the side and shrugged. “You should just leave it. Let it go. You don’t need it,” she responded.
When I woke up, I cried. The panic which enveloped me was so real, so overwhelming. I could not go any further. So I prayed every day that God give me clarity, show me the plan. How would I get my stuff?
God refused to respond.
Two weeks later, I entered a 3-day liquid fast as part of a 12-month class I decided to take with other women around the globe called the Queendom Academy. From the start, I found myself crying uncontrollably, dry heaving and apologizing to God, hit with the revelation that my stuff had become my god. And that like Abraham on that scary walk up the mountain with wood, a knife, and his son Isaac, I was going to have to make a real decision to let go. Let it allll go in favor of God. If God would not be my 1st love, then I would never get to where I wanted to go, be who I wanted to be. All I would have is some stuff not worth the money I paid to store it.
I made peace with God that day. I told God, “If it is your will, I let it go. I can get more stuff. But I gotta have you.”
Last month, God mot only gave me my stuff back, God gave me a place to put it where it all fits perfectly. And God sent me help in the form of hands, money, and prayers of love and light. In releasing the very thing I would die for, I received more than I asked for.
Make of it what you will, but there is power in letting go. The catch is always in the release.