Serenity in Strife

Amanda Lawrence shares field notes from her struggle to find serenity in a season of strife.  

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.  

The Serenity Prayer, attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr, became my mantra recently when I dropped into a season of change. I repeated, meditated, and embraced it all while struggling against it.  

God, Grant Me the Serenity.  

Last August, I realized I was at a crossroads. I leaned hard into discerning God’s will, wondering whether to stay or go. Considering the second option forced me into an evaluative state. Suddenly, thoughts of moving led to the next logical fear — what will I do with all my stuff?  

After over a decade in my small, cozy apartment, I'd collected some things. Like a human magpie, I gathered clothes, books, technology, and other shiny, miscellaneous clutter I did not need. While I wore most of the clothes, I dreaded the thought of packing and hauling them all elsewhere. So, I stumbled into purging, praying that God would reveal which path to take and grant me the serenity to pursue it courageously.  

He stayed quiet while I donated simple stuff. 

Silent while I threw out broken stuff. 

Inaudible while I flailed around, pleading, “Is this what I’m meant to do?” 

Eventually, the long silence unnerved me. I panicked and found myself purchasing more things just to cope. These new trinkets only served as distractions, leading to more stuff and its accompanying anxiety. 

Navigating this journey forced me to engage in some harsh self-reflection. Why am I saving the invisible furniture that only serves as a makeshift clothes rack, or the impulse purchases I didn’t need?  

Because having them once brought an iota of comfort.  

But I’m after the joy of the Lord, not earthly treasures! 

A dizzying, prickly heat flushed my face as the crushing weight of this realization spurred me into action. Most of my beloved books went to a literacy organization or a library book sale. My extra kitchen gadgets, many dresses, and my son’s sentimental stuffed animals got washed and donated to thrift stores.  

The more I removed, the more stuff I found to remove, but my apartment never seemed less cluttered. It was madness. I felt like Sisyphus, rolling a boulder uphill only to have it roll down. After months of this, decision fatigue hit, leading to a paralysis that left me depressed on the couch, where I repeated my mantra a million times. It was all I could do as doubt slithered in, suffocating my resolve with its icy tendrils.  

Am I Not Trusting God, or Worse, Self-sabotaging?  

I arrived in June exhausted and confused. As I progressed toward this point, I had asked everyone for assistance and advice about decluttering and removing furniture. Yet, no joy or help appeared. I was one week from my tentative moving deadline and no closer to being decluttered enough to leave. Feeling hopeless and alone, I repeated my mantra in a desperate attempt to accept this sinful world as it is, not how I want it to be.  

Defeated, I curled up with my Bible.  

“Seven days, God. I don’t see how that’s possible,” I said before opening the book. My eyes landed on Judith’s impassioned plea to her people.

"[If God] does not plan to come to our aid within the five days, he has it equally within his power to protect us at such time as he pleases, or to destroy us in the sight of our enemies." (Judith 8:15). 

I couldn’t help but laugh. After a long silence, God’s response was perfect. He changed Judith’s life in a day. He could do the same for me. But like Judith, I would have to act and behead the General of fear and materialism threatening my future.   

The Fruits of Anguish Ripened.  

While I didn’t make my moving deadline this time, the entire ordeal helped me confront and break my cycle of clutter. I soon realized it wasn’t the amount of stuff that overwhelmed me, but the effort needed to clear it. This process revealed my autopilot actions and casual consumerism. It was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t look away. 

Worse, I’ve always donated freely, and never had a problem parting with stuff. But this was different. The books, dresses, and furniture were attachments. It wasn’t the amount I was combating; it was the bond.  

Since we’re meant to store treasures in heaven, not on earth, I had to detach.  

Once again, I repeated my mantra while God began another new, less-cluttered chapter for me. However, my evolution is ongoing, and I’d love your support! Please keep me in your prayers, future saints, and share your favorite decluttering tips in the comments below. I could sure use the help! 

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Copyright 2025 Amanda Lawrence
Images: Canva