At first I was intrigued as I read an article on the BBC about today's minimalists who are getting rid of their stuff and living in sparse looking apartments. I was attracted to the idea of shedding stuff and perhaps gaining new spiritual insight through the discipline of reduction.

I'm keenly tuned to my own attachment to things because I'm a person who has had to pack and unpack the stuff one too many times. Things, things, things. I've moved them between 6 countries on 3 continents. I've also gone through a house fire which took most everything I had of material value. Topping it off, I live in a developing country that reveals my standard of simplicity as relative. I live simply compared to friends in the States. I live like a flippin' crazy person compared to most Africans. I know full well that my local friends must think we're nuts to "need" all of this.

The best thing about December in Africa is the simplicity that surrounds Christmas here.  The entire holiday comes in a stripped back form and there is poignancy to themessage that remains. A baby was born.  No frills.

To be honest, though, it’s the simplicity that’s driving me crazy today.  As I write, we are a few short days from Christmas Eve and I am frustrated by our lack of a tree. Over the course of many Christmases in Africa, we’ve had some lovely trees. Most of them were thorn trees. Decorated, I always liked the symbolism of beauty surrounded by sharp thorns.  In the tree I could see the span of Christ’s life.  A beautiful gift that cost God dearly—that’s the message of this season.

But these days we live in a city and we can’t just walk out and find a sweet little tree to cut and bring home.

I just spent four days in a hallway sized space with four other people.  We lived with food from one ice chest and two grocery bags and wore the same clothes over and over.  This wasn't some sort of urban plunge, this was our family vacation on Catalina Island. 

As I sat on the deck of the boat, exposing my repeated outfit to the whole harbor, I realized that I was the most at rest and peace I've been in a long time.  I was perfectly happy to sit knee to knee with my dad drinking coffee, listening to the ocean and soaking up the sun.  My dad laughed as he apparently realized the same thing, "We have a huge, beautiful home and we do this for fun!"  We do this- load up the bare essentials and trek out to a harbor or the woods to sleep on the ground or the sea.  And we love it.