1st Month of Seven = Clothing

Reading through the Clothing chapter of “7,” reminded me of some key cultural differences between us Northern gals and our sisters to the south of us. For some reason, despite our need to be prepared for temperatures which range from below zero to over 90 and humidity which fluctuates just the same, I still think we have a tendency to accumulate a mite bit less in this category. Unless long underwear collections count. For many of us, paring down on our clothing for a month may at first glance appear to be a gentle easing into this mutiny against the excess of our lives, but I want to remind us that by comparison to the rest of the world, we still live with far more articles in our closets than we need and could use a few weeks of reflection on this fact. Therefore, be careful you don’t take it too easy on yourself as you develop your plan of attack for March. To help you get the ideas rolling, I’ve copied down Jen’s regimen and additional suggestions from her workbook. Be sure to enter your comment below, being as specific as necessary about your perimeters for our clothing fast. Include any questions you have for the KGG Council so we can all be ready to get going this weekend!

Jen’s Approach: Choose Seven items of clothing for one month:

The articles she chose (obviously, we would choose what fits our own needs most):

1. One pair of jeans, dark wash, kind of plain
2. One long-sleeved solid black T-shirt, fitted
3. One short-sleeved black “Haiti relief” T-shirt with white print
4. One short sleeved gray “Mellow Johnny’s Bike Shop” T-shirt with yellow print
5. One pair of gray drawstring knit Capri pants
6. One long silk darn brown dress shirt (my “speaker shirt”)
7. Shoes: Cowboy boots and tennis shoes

She adds these comments:

 "Shoes counted as one item. However I only rotated through two pairs of shoes. I had to reconcile my stay home life with my Conference Speaker life, and I’m sorry, but I wasn’t wearing nice cowboy boots with my yoga pants to the park. Underwear didn’t count. It just didn’t, OK?   I also omitted all jewelry for the month (except my wedding ring) and accessories. TEAR."

(See? The fact that she is this detailed about what clothing she picked reveals she’s not from around here. And where are the pajama pants for her Wal-mart trips? Sheesh.)

Alternative Ideas (from her workbook or my head)

• Grab a small bag, like a reusable grocery bag. Whatever fits in there, including shoes is what you have for the month. Shut your closet and live out of that bag.
• Seven clothes too easy? Count undergarments and shoes as one item
• Wear the same outfit for seven days, but change accessories. You would need four outfits to get through the month.
• Choose seven items to wear every day for each week, but find a way to wear them differently – one outfit, seven ways.
• Reduce your toiletries to only seven items, including make-up.
• Give yourself a seven-minute time limit on getting ready each morning after you shower.
• Wear only clothes you haven’t warn in over a year, even shoes.
• Put away your "comfort clothes" for the month and do your best Doris Day impression. See if anyone notices you've stopped looking like you just stepped out of bed each day!

It’s totally up to you whether to include the rest of your family on this month! 

Now it’s your turn. Comment below on what YOU will be doing! Include any questions you might have for us to resolve together. Be ready to BEGIN this Friday!

"The Room" by Joshua Harris

My daughter is the one who found this story and shared it with me.  After just reading it and with tears in my eyes, I feel compelled to share it also with you.

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index-card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. 

As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded.

An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus.
I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

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"The Room" by Joshua Harris. Copyright New Attitude, 1995. You have permission to share. We only ask that you include this copyright byline and do not alter the content.