Traveling Tetris

Growing up my family's primary vacation each year was a week of tent camping in the Tallulah River Gorge region of North Georgia. My mom agreed to camping as long as my dad did all the cooking. So we would load our tent and sleeping bags, a cooler for food for the week, clothes, fishing poles, and chairs for around the campfire. With my parents, two sisters, myself, and the dog, our minivan was always full to the brim. Thankfully my dad was a master car packer. Every bit of space was utilized. The back was filled from floor to ceiling. Under the seats were a solid wall of first aid kits, jackets, and the odd book. On particularly long trips, I would climb into the back seat, buckle in, and have sleeping bags and suitcases packed around me to make a little travel cave. Everything always fit. I still don't understand how.

This past Christmas I felt like I was channeling my dad's packing prowess. It was our first Christmas as a family of four and we were headed to Louisiana loaded down with a large bassinet, a jogging stroller, and far too many toys for the four-year-old. Every inch of space was accounted for. What I did not account for, however, was the ratio of toys received to the toys given when you have small children. At each stop we unloaded our gifts and scrambled to find room for what we received. We also had to squeeze a 3.5 foot, 100 pound concrete statue of St. Francis behind Blaise's car seat. What else should you by when driving through Louisiana? The final leg of our journey home was completed with the dog riding in Caitlin's lap in the front seat and Basil with his knees propped up in the air by the Christmas presents underneath.

A car this full is a bad way to drive for 8-plus hours, but we aren't meant to carry everything in life with us either. The temptation as we go through life is to continue to make room for more and more things, and while this is true of stuff, it is also true of other kinds of baggage. We accumulate like master packers trying to bring everything along. Sometimes I wonder if this is especially true of our faith. Perhaps their is something you were told about God early on that no longer fits your understanding of faith? Maybe you were hurt by a pastor or church and still carry that hurt with you though the wound itself has healed? What no longer fits into your life? What is no longer worth the mental, emotional, and spiritual space you give it? While 2026 is still young, perhaps it is time to take stock of your spiritual life and see what you are driving around. Much of it will be good, but just maybe leaving some things on the roadside would be better.