This morning, Hannah and I walked by a pile of someone's belongings that wasn't there 24 hours ago.
If you live in public housing in West Dallas, and you, for whatever reason don't pay your rent, the authorities come and put all you own outside the gates of your apartment on the front curb.
They dump everything, including the contents of your refrigerator.
Eviction looks like this.
Sometimes, if you know it's coming, you can carry away most of your clothes, your baby pictures, your kids' shoes. Sometimes, it happens while you're at the grocery.
Sometimes, your kids come home from school to find out they don't have a home any more. Sometimes, you all walk to the bus-stop carrying all you can in suitcases and backpacks.
After all you own is dumped on the curb, sometimes your neighbors will come and take what they want from the pile that used to be your stuff and take it home with them.
Then, after everything's been picked through by everyone else, sometimes kids will come by and tag all your stuff with spray paint.
The poor learn to hold loosely to their things because this is a scene they're familiar with. I hold tightly to my things because this scene still surprises me.
I talk about holding loosely to my things because that's what Scripture tells me to do but I'm not sure I really know what that means. If I had to take with me only what I could carry, would the vintage wooden dough bowl on my kitchen table still be as fabulous? The architectural pieces I found at the flea market? My uncomfortable but pretty shoes? My curling iron and flat iron and hot rollers?
It's made me think today, what, of all my stuff really, really, at the end of the day, matters. It's actually, when push comes to shove, very little.
They all have heartbeats.