Are You a Hoarder ("Collector") of STUFF?
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”— Matthew 11:28
I have a confession.
I am a hoarder.
Well… “collector” sounds much nicer, doesn’t it?
I collect coffee mugs and water cups. Apparently, I believe every place I visit requires commemorative drinkware. Austin? Cup. Puerto Rico? Cup. Florida? Another cup—as though I don’t actually live here.
Why?
I have no idea. 🤷🏻♀️
At this point, my husband has forbidden me from purchasing another mug or water cup. We have nowhere to put them. Cabinets are full. Shelves are full. We have enough vessels to hydrate a small congregation.
And still, I can walk into a store, see an adorable mug and think:
Ohhhh. I need that.
No, ma’am.
You absolutely do not.
But isn't that what we do?
We collect things.
Some are useful. Some are sentimental. Some made sense when we picked them up. Others, if we're being completely truthful, should have remained exactly where we found them.
And lately, I've realized I haven't only done this with mugs.
I've done it with my life.
The Things We Collect
Somewhere along my journey, I became a collector of emotional and spiritual clutter.
I collected relationships.
Expectations.
Regrets.
Resentments.
Responsibilities.
Other people's opinions.
Memories I kept replaying.
Problems I decided were mine to solve.
Plans God never gave me.
Deadlines nobody imposed on me but me.
And, of course, a few lovely souvenirs from decisions I probably should not have made in the first place.
One by one, I picked them up.
And then I carried them.
For miles.
No wonder I'm tired.
The word weary means to be extremely tired, worn out, or depleted after prolonged effort.
The word burdened describes being weighed down by a heavy load—physically, mentally, or emotionally.
Well.
Check.
And check.
I am weary.
I have been burdened.
But here is where I have to be completely transparent:
I cannot blame all of my burdens on God.
Sometimes, We Did It to Ourselves
There are trials we experience because we live in a broken world. There are seasons of suffering we cannot control. There are burdens we carry out of love, responsibility, obedience and sacrifice.
But then there are the other ones.
The ones we picked up ourselves.
I have to admit that much of my own anguish has been self-inflicted.
Ouch.
I would love to tell you that every difficult season of my life was some mysterious wilderness God led me into so that I could emerge forty days later glowing with wisdom.
Not exactly.
Sometimes I was in the wilderness because I wandered off.
I made hasty decisions.
I trusted the wrong “experts.”
I trusted my instincts.
I trusted my knowledge.
I became impatient.
I thought I knew better.
I wanted an answer now, so I found one.
I wanted something done now, so I did it myself.
I wanted to know where we were going now, so instead of following the Shepherd, apparently I decided I was qualified to lead the expedition.
This is where the sheep analogy becomes painfully appropriate.
Because I really am like a little lamb sometimes.
Something shiny catches my attention.
Oooh! What's that?
A new sound.
A new possibility.
A new idea.
A new plan.
And off I go.
Then eventually I look around like:
Um…Jesus?
Meanwhile, the Shepherd is probably thinking, We were literally going the other way.
I get on my own nerves sometimes!
Why Do I Distrust Someone I Say I Trust?
I love Jesus.
I believe in Him.
I know He has carried me before.
So why do I sometimes behave as though He suddenly needs my assistance running the universe?
Why am I so impatient?
Why do I rush ahead?
Why do I pray for guidance and then start moving before I have received it?
I have knowledge.
I have experience.
I have instincts.
But what is knowledge without wisdom?
And what is wisdom without humility?
There is a lot for me to unpack there.
Because underneath some of my exhaustion wasn't simply a busy life.
There was pride.
There was impatience.
There was fear.
There was a lack of trust.
Hebrews 11:6 tells us that without faith, it is impossible to please God.
Ugh.
There it is.
I've missed the mark.
Again and again.
Exhaustion Changes Us
I am tired right now.
Not just I could use an extra cup of coffee tired.
I mean tired in every sense of the word.
And I have learned something about exhaustion:
When we carry too much for too long, we stop behaving like ourselves.
We become moody.
Restless.
Cranky.
Resentful.
Withdrawn.
We don't want to talk.
We don't want to help.
We don't particularly want anyone asking us for anything.
Sometimes we isolate ourselves simply because interacting with another human being requires energy we no longer possess.
And let's be truthful: when you're exhausted, being nice can feel like another item on the to-do list.
Please don't ask me another question.
Please don't need anything from me.
Please don't invite me anywhere.
Please don't even chew loudly near me.
We are spent.
Drained.
Our patience disappears.
Our capacity for kindness shrinks.
And love—which we are called to extend so freely to others—doesn't flow quite so naturally from an exhausted heart.
Sometimes we need a nap.
Absolutely.
Take the nap.
But sometimes what we really need is to stop carrying the things that made us exhausted in the first place.
You Can't Receive When Your Hands Are Full
This is the part I am beginning to understand.
When we are overly burdened, we become so full that we don't have room to receive.
Someone offers love, but we're guarded.
Someone offers help, but we say, “I've got it.”
Someone offers kindness, but we're suspicious.
Someone wants to pour into us, but every container we own is already overflowing.
We have no bandwidth for more.
Our hands are full.
Our minds are full.
Our hearts are full.
Our schedules are full.
Our cabinets are apparently full of mugs.
And then Jesus says:
Come to Me.
Not, Try harder.
Not, Carry everything more efficiently.
Not, Buy a better planner.
Not even, Let Me help you organize all the baggage you've accumulated.
Come to Me.
Emptying My Pockets Before the Shepherd
Psalm 23 says:
“The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures,he leads me beside quiet waters,he refreshes my soul. He guides me along the right paths…”
I love that picture.
Because lately, I imagine myself finally being found by my Shepherd after another one of my little adventures.
And I'm standing before Him exhausted, carrying bags full of souvenirs I picked up along the way.
Here's some resentment.
Here's a relationship I should have released years ago.
Here's regret.
Here's somebody else's opinion of me.
Here's a plan I made without asking You.
Here's fear.
Here's guilt.
Here's the responsibility for something that was never mine to fix.
Oh—and here's a lovely mug I bought in Austin.
One by one, I dump everything at His feet.
Because I finally understand:
The Shepherd never asked me to carry most of it.
Letting Go of Myself
I used to think letting go meant releasing people, circumstances, possessions or things from the past.
I'm learning that sometimes the hardest thing to let go of is myself.
My timeline.
My plans.
My need to know.
My desire to control the outcome.
My belief that if God doesn't move quickly enough, perhaps I should give Him a little assistance.
My own understanding of how my life is supposed to look.
That may be the heaviest thing I've carried.
Today, I am tired of carrying it.
I hear my Shepherd's voice.
And I know He has come for me.
My work is His.
My family is His.
My future is His.
My desires are His.
Even I am His.
“For everything I have is not mine, but His.”
And maybe that is where rest begins.
Not when every problem disappears.
Not when life becomes easy.
But when I finally stop picking things up that God never asked me to carry.
What Are You Carrying?
So let me ask you:
Are you a collector too?
Maybe your weakness isn't coffee mugs or water cups.
Maybe you collect responsibilities.
Maybe you collect offenses.
Maybe you collect guilt.
Maybe you collect relationships long after their season has ended.
Maybe you collect everybody else's problems because you feel responsible for fixing them.
Maybe you collect plans.
Expectations.
Regrets.
What are you carrying today that God never handed you?
Maybe before asking Him for enough strength to keep carrying it, we should ask a different question:
“Lord, was this ever mine to carry?”
Because perhaps Jesus' invitation to the weary isn't simply an invitation to recover enough strength to pick the load back up.
Think about it: Perhaps some things need to stay right there at His feet.
Isn't it so good that Jesus understands? He literally already knows you and your heart.
He knows you have the greatest intentions.
He knows you want to do the right thing.
He also knows we are easily distracted.
It is a lifelong journey to learn to trust Him in faith.
And while I know I can get impatient with myself as well, I know that the journey to get there IS THE ADVENTURE.
While you walk your walk, embrace the little moments when you look around and say, "Um..Jesus....are you still there?"
That often means you've wandered off.
And that's ok.
Embrace it as new learning.
As we walk through those mishaps, our lives are being transformed.
Jesus has given me rest, but not to carry the load I had before.
I need to leave it and trust Him...and I will keep at it.
I'm tired.
I'm putting the bags down.
And apparently, I'm not allowed to buy any more mugs either.
Until Next Time...
💙 Mirza
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