In 2005, our family was living in a three-bedroom ranch home, vintage 1954. We had two children under the age of three.  My husband and I traveled often with our college ministry jobs, and we hosted students and groups from our church even more often. We made dear friends, and we were privileged to serve God and others in this time and place.  But our responsibilities and pace of life often overwhelmed us.

I distinctly remember one dreary Monday morning when the four of us were piled onto our sofa, nursing a conference hangover from the weekend before.  One more weekend of travel with babies.  One more Monday morning of full suitcases and laundry.  One more massive scramble to get paperwork and bills organized before the next week.

Stuff was everywhere.  Exersaucers.  Stacks of paperwork.  Toys.  Sermon notes. Shoes. Clean dishes. Dirty dishes. Files. Bags of miscellany.

Trying to recapture some equilibrium, my husband and I began sorting through the stacks in our office, when I came across this tiny book from the 80s my mother had passed along:

While I was supposed to be making sense of the chaos, I took a break at read it.  (It’s small.)  I was immediately converted.

I gave it to my husband, and he read it. Immediate conversion number two.

We were hooked.

The basic premise of the book is this: your crap stuff and your hobbies are taking up your life.  You spend time and money storing stuff, cleaning stuff, moving stuff.  You even spend time thinking about storing it, cleaning it, and moving it.

The great revival began that morning, and we haven’t stopped.  One vignette from that day that sums up our new philosophy involves breakfast.

My husband and I had both read the little book, and we were evaluating our kitchen, deciding what was necessary and what we could live without.

My husband said, “I’m giving away our waffle maker.”

I gasped. “But what if we want to make waffles?”

My husband replied, “We can make pancakes, right? Same taste as waffles. We’ll keep the skillet to make pancakes because we can also use the skillet for other things.”

I was concerned for our waffle-eating future.  I asked again, with concern and resolve, “But what if we really, really want waffles?”

He paused, sincerely thoughtful, then answered, “We’ll go to Waffle House.  They’re the waffle experts.”

My mind was completely blown.  Our family would willingly give up the ability to make waffles at our own convenience?  The consistent ability to eat waffles at any time is not necessary for our happiness? We can limit our culinary opportunities still survive? We can live in America and not have to keep all of our breakfast entree options open?

Yep.

The purge didn’t stop in the kitchen that day.

We also gave away our snow skis and snow clothes, even though we both love snow skiing more than any other hobby.  Why?  We acknowledged that we lived in non-snowy Georgia, and we furthur acknowledged that our work is in the non-profit sector. Skiing from a distance is possible, but it is an expensive option. In our newly-embraced paradigm, spending time, energy, and precious square footage on two boxes of ski equipment seemed draining. We agreed that if something drastic changed and we ended up living in Colorado or Vermont, we could always rebuy the ski stuff second hand.

The nutshell lesson of that rainy, second-conversion-Monday is this: you cannot live a reasonable, streamlined life with all your options open. If you want to be orgainzed, sane, and able to contribute to the world, you must give yourself limits.  A life in ministry is a called life. Being called to some pursuits means you will be called away from others.

If you are called to a life of in ministry, your life will be different from your neighbors’ lives.

You will be called to give up privileges like privacy and vacation, which you may have envisioned playing a regular part in your adulthood.  You will be called to open your home at all hours to host, entertain, or shelter unexpected guests.  You will be called to do without material comforts, like closets and garages, which  you may have once envisioned being part of an average home.

Welcome to your ministry life.

Situations vary.  If you minister to high school or college students, the demands on your time will likely include late nights, excessive amounts of gluten and dairy, and the cramming of 30 students onto the floor of your living room (no furniture required).  If you pastor a local church, your commitments might involve hospital visits, working  Sundays, and visits from parishioners.  If you volunteer as a church elder or Bible study leader, in addition to your “real” job, you will likely attend more meetings and sit on more committees than you ever thought possible.

Regardless of your specific situation, a ministry life is not typical.  It is exciting and rewarding, yes.  It is challenging, maybe.  It is a great adventure, let’s hope so.

But it will suck you dry if you don’t embrace it and make adjustments. That is why you should give up waffles. And maybe snow skiing.

In 2005, giving away our waffle maker seemed kind of crazy. People weren’t talking about minimalism.  Since 2005, minimalism has become more mainstream. Design shows promote an uncluttered look.  Ecological movements encourage less materialism.  Surveys show Millenials are wired for experiences over things.

But if you have yet to make the jump into a less-burdened, more agile life, here are four basic thoughts that might help the medicine slide down a little more smoothly:

1.  Be a stuff snob. It’s ok to only keep the very best things. Don’t keep something that’s broken or just doesn’t work well with hopes you’ll repair it, or return it, or that some kindly tinker will appear at your door with a bag of tools. Let it go. Recycle it or donate it to a cause which recycles bits and parts.  Free yourself.  And next time, buy the better item, even if you have to save up a little more money in advance. Or borrow it. Or do without.

2. Keeping your options open is greedy. You can’t have everything.  You can’t play every sport.  You can’t entertain every hobby. You can’t have the options of eight different shoe colors. You don’t need 700 books.  You won’t use six different homeschool curricula. Limit yourself.  Swear off making waffles. Buy less. Have more energy for other people.

3.  You are not saving money when you save things.  I know it feels wasteful to give away something you may possibly need later.  What if you give away your fly fishing waders, and someone invites you to Patagonia?  What if you give away your kebab skewers, and you have a kebab-related dinner emergency?  Of all the thousands of items I have passed along or donated over the years, I have only missed a couple.  I am always more than willing to spend the money on a new item in exchange for all the energy I saved by not keeping the thousands of other belongings.

4. Cleaning is about making decisions. In order to keep your life streamlined and efficient for serving others, you have to keep it relatively tidy.  But tidying up involves a series of decisions.  Where do the dishes go?  Where do the socks go?  Where do the backpacks go?  These first questions are softballs.  But if you have too much specialty stuff, it gets complicated.  Where does the bundt cake pan go?  Where do the glow-in-the-dark golf balls go?  Where does great Aunt Sally’s second set of teacups go?  Release yourself from these decisions.  Free yourself to serve others.

In summary, life is short. And a life of ministry is both short and serious. You are called to travel light in order to serve others well.

See you at the Waffle House,

Emily