In the wake of my decision to participate in hospice, albeit palliative care, stuff was emptied from catch-all drawers, linens from closet shelves, clothing from hangers, tools and supplies from the kitchen and garage, clutter in the medicine cabinet and vanity—anything I wasn’t using. From lower shelves of bookcases, I emptied thirty loose-leaf binders that contained analysis of dreams and retreat notes, recorded since 1988. Within three days, a paradoxical fullness filled my home’s emptiness: I was content.

True, my heart did pang as untouched watercolor materials for beginners were bagged up: palette, paints and brush pins, guidebooks, pads of watercolor paper, and tape. A workshop, years ago, had made this art form look so doable, but I never took the time to practice the techniques.

It’s not as if I had much stuff to dispose of, however. Limited energy had restrained the accumulation of clutter: it was too much to look after.

I had also adhered to the decades-old counsel of a wise woman: “The greatest charity that you can offer those you leave behind is to have your affairs in perfect order—no messes to unscramble, no guesswork.”

It’s all about making room for more life to burgeon and flourish. This is Creator God’s work.