Overpacking

Growing up with a little sister who is severely handicapped, I learned the value of over packing. Going to church on Sunday mornings required a sherpa. Sending her to school was a mass undertaking. A trip to Yellowstone?... Forget about it; we had two car-top carriers and the back and sides of a van packed to the rafters... or whatever it is that forms the top of a van... emergency lights? Even more than with a normally able-bodied child, with an alternately-abled child there is no telling what may happen, and you have to plan for every possibility. You have to take warm clothes and blankets in case it is cold and light clothes in case it is hot. You have to take an extra sleeping bag, more insulating mats, several many food options, diapers, clothes for diaper fails, special chair, special wheelchair, toys, distractions, etc, etc.

Because of this need to prepare for every eventuality, I learned to over pack. I would take the biggest bag I could find on trips and would have to sit on it in order to zipper it closed. My first real confrontation with this understanding came on my trip to New Zealand with Youth For Christ. After I raised my support and got my passport, YFC sent me a duffle bag. I was allowed to fill this bag and then bring a sleeping bag along with me. And that was it.

I started to compile the things I would need for a month away from home in a foreign land. It began massing in a heap in the center of my room. Seven pairs of pants (they promised laundry once a week... this did not happen... it did rain every single day however, which is kind of like laundry, right?), ten shirts, three jackets, three pairs of shoes, two skirts, and necessary under-riggin's. That was just the clothes. Then, I had to think about other necessities: my wave iron, a blow dryer, plug adapters and a voltage converter so I could plug in said hair toys (really, what is so wrong with everyone having the same plugs/sockets? I suspect when the aliens visit they will go back to their home-world pub and report to all their alien buddies, "Earth? Don't even bother! All their technology plugs into different types of sockets. They're a mess!" I feel in our galactic marketing scheme, nonstandard plugs are really holding us back from our target audience... I digress.) hair gel, hair spray, shower stuff, camera, extra memory card, extra battery, YFC binder, food in case the apocalypse occurred or our flight was downed in the Pacific and we had to swim to a deserted island and survival depended on the food I brought and coconuts (the food I brought being a cup of mini Oreos and a Reese's Fastbreak... and yes, we would be doomed, but we would die happy). Oh, and my Bible. Maybe an important thing to bring on a missions trip.

Needless to say, I got two pairs of pants and a couple shirts in the bag, then felt the weight of hopelessness bearing down on me. I relinquished the need to have perfectly straight, smooth hair on a humid pacific island in the wet season, I selected one pair of shoes aside from the ones I would wear on the plane, and I broke my toothbrush in half. The latter action did nothing to save space, but did accomplish something for venting frustration. In the end I took that one duffle bag and my sleeping bag and soldiered off into the unknown (with maybe just a few extra pairs of socks accidentally rolled up in my sleeping bag. "How did those get there?" she asks with innocent doe eyes.)

I have grown better at being less prepared, and I have come to appreciate the spontaneity and creativity it takes to survive inside of limits. As I have matured (a little) I see this psychology for what it is: a need for control. Limited in my mortal humanity in a vast, unpredictable, and often unkind world, I have a mental imperative to be prepared to exert control, to bring down order, to fend off the discomfort of uncertainty with the range of stuffs I carry on my back. This leaves little space to exercise the range of faith I carry in my heart, or the vastness of God's strength and grace. Perfectionism is a desire for control, and it leaves very little room for the beauty of life as Christ's child.

Priscilla Shirer calls it God-margin: the space between your abilities, your talents, your time, your resources, and what God has asked you to do. She states one of the beautiful paradoxes of the Christian life: "God does not call us to do hard stuff; He calls us to do impossible stuff," and at the same time, "You don't need all the things you thought you would need." Gideon faced the army of the Midianites (a paltry 135,000) with 32,000 men. But, "The Lord said to Gideon, 'You have too many men. I cannot deliver Midian into their hands, or Israel would boast against me, 'My own strength has saved me.'" The Lord cut Gideon's men down to 300, and said "Now you are ready."

My 300 is living on one small (from my perspective on the hillside) income for the next nine months, my 300 is being for all intents a single mom, my 300 is the raging battle of perfection, control, and stock-piling in the face of a God who has declared that He will provide for my heart, my spirit, and my family. In my weakness, God, may your strength be perfected!