Making Room

Amy and I have been spending a lot of time lately getting our house ready to sell as we prepare for the final move to Texas this summer.

Which means… decluttering. A lot of decluttering. 

I’ve talked to people who love decluttering. For me? It’s right up there with waiting in line at the DMV.

You know how it goes.

Opening closets that somehow became storage units.
Pulling boxes off shelves and thinking, Wait… we still have this?
Sorting piles into categories: keep, donate, toss… and the avoid-at-all-costs “maybe” pile.

We’ve found things we forgot we owned.

Things we’ve carried from one house to another without ever really using.
Things that once felt important… that now just feel like weight.

And every now and then, tucked in between the clutter—a memory. A photo. A note. Something small that stops you for a moment.

Suddenly you’re not decluttering anymore. You’re remembering—being taken somewhere else.

Where you were.
Who you were.
What mattered.
What changed.

And you just… sit with it for a minute.

It’s funny, right?

You start out trying to clear space in your house—and somewhere along the way, something starts opening up inside you too.

Which has me wondering if maybe this is part of what it means to live resurrection. Not just believing that something new is possible… but making room for it.

Resurrection, as beautiful as it is, doesn’t just add something new on top of everything we’re already carrying.

It has a way of asking: What are you still clinging to that no longer gives you life?

Old fears.
Old stories.
Old versions of ourselves.
Old expectations about how things were “supposed” to go.

Some of it we’ve outgrown.
Some of it we’ve been meaning to let go of for a long time.
Some of it… we didn’t even realize it was still there.

Until we did.

And just like those boxes in the closet, we’re left there, holding something, asking: Do I still need this?

Resurrection doesn’t force an answer. But it does invite one.

New life needs space. It needs room to breathe. Room to stretch. Room to become what it’s meant to be.

And sometimes that space only opens up when we’re willing to release what’s been crowding it.

Not everything, of course.

Some things we keep. 
Some things we hold onto with gratitude. 
Some memories we keep with us because they’ve shaped us in good ways.

But other things?

Well… they’ve done what they needed to do.

And now, letting go isn’t loss.

It’s movement.

It’s trust.

It’s the quiet, sometimes inconvenient (and yes, slightly annoying) work of making room for something new.

So maybe living resurrection looks a little less like a single, dramatic moment and a little more like this:

Opening the closet.
Sorting through what’s there.
Taking a breath when something tugs at your heart.
Letting go when it’s time.

Making space.

Trusting that what’s coming next doesn’t need everything we’ve been carrying.

Just an open place to land.

Much love,

Pastor Gregg