Bare Living

I am a Victorian at heart. Not only did I think that theirs were better times, but a couple of busts and portraits of the old queen sit and hang about the place, while my penchant for cluttered rooms suits well their taste. This week, I have arranged for someone to redecorate my parlour, a project last attempted by some previous occupants, over sixteen years ago. I am fairly certain that the next occasion that the room gets a lick of paint, I shall be in glory, and some new residents are likely to modernise it according to some ghastly colour scheme. As I removed model soldiers, half a dozen lamps, five paintings, four potted palms, two aspidistras and a gramophone, I wondered if it was all worth the hassle and expense. Time will tell, and I may just squeeze a blog post out of it.

I might be one of those folk who attracts too much junk, while finding others’ ‘minimalistic’ houses rather refreshing, but we all accumulate one way or another. If I was not storing up Victoriana, I should be accruing money, or time, or experiences, or memories. The latter are more valuable, it might be observed, but they, too, come at a cost, and they are not always nice. When the Lord calls the Christian home (or the unbeliever to judgement) none of our things can be taken with us. There we shall be stripped of all that is of this world, with nothing remaining but what we did for King Jesus (if we are His), or a record of when we wronged Him and broke His law (if we are not His).

Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.

1 Corinthians 3:12-13

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