This piece grew out of a recent episode of Rose Unplugged, where I  sat down with decluttering expert Joshua Becker to talk about the surprising overlap between our need for control and the clutter we hold onto. Here's some of what I shared with viewers that day. 

This is about relinquishing control to God — and about organizing and uncluttering our homes, our lives, and our faith. It's a subject I explored recently. 

Let's start with control: 

Last year someone very close to me experienced serious complications after surgery. What should have been a recovery turned into a two-month hospital stay, and ultimately, his passing. 

I was carrying the deep sadness of watching someone I loved slowly  fade away. There's no way to prepare yourself for that — for sitting  next to a hospital bed, hoping for improvement while quietly realizing the outcome may already have been decided. 

And naturally, during seasons like that, lessons surface. Growth happens — even when we resist it. Because if I'm being honest with  myself — and it took me some time to get there — I realized this  wasn't just about grief. It was about control. 

As my friend was dying, I was forced to come face-to-face with something I've struggled with my entire life: and that is-- I can't control everything. 

But I am a fixer. That's what they called me at home for years. You've got a problem? I can fix it. And most of the time — I did. I was good at it. Not only did I believe I could fix things — my family and friends  believed it too.  

If friends or family found themselves tangled in circumstances they couldn't sort through — I was there. Not just with a solution, but with a really good solution. I took pride in that.

I think when someone grows up surrounded by a lot of chaos — a lot  of distressing moments — that child learns early how to create order wherever they can. As they are growing into an adult that person will find ways to create their own order. Or essentially, control situations because growing up they felt things were so very out of control. 

That was me. 

‍

‍

But the problem with being a fixer is that it doesn't always leave room for God to do what only He can do. 

During my friend's time in the hospital, I learned — painfully — that  there were things I simply couldn’t do. I didn't understand what was happening to his body. I couldn't make it better. I couldn't fix it. I had  to let go. And I had to let God finish a work He had already begun. 

Not everything is up to me. Not everything can be fixed by me. And  learning that — really learning it — changed me. And once that truth settled in, I began to look honestly at my own  life — and I realized just how many ways I exerted control. 

Now understand, my control came from a desire to help. But  underneath that help was often an inner turmoil — a constant hum of responsibility. Constantly asking myself, how do I make this better? What else can I do? What am I missing? 

But even in the midst of turmoil, God calls us to rest in Him. 

There were many times I did. But if I'm honest, there were just as  many times I did not. Or I would give a situation to Him — only to  take it back. We do that, don't we? Hand it over in prayer, then quietly reclaim it the moment things don't move fast enough or look the way we want them to. 

When you really think about it, it's arrogant. How in the world do we convince ourselves that we can control outcomes? Especially as Christians. We should know better. 

Proverbs 19:21 reminds us, "Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."

And here's the part that stopped me cold: God was calling His child — my friend — home. To eternal life with Him. And if I'm being completely honest, I was almost working against that. Think about it. I felt like I needed to be part of the process that saved his earthly body, and yet all the while God was preparing to receive it. 

When you sit with that for a moment — you realize that's awfully presumptuous. 

During that time of awakening, I was reminded of something Oswald Chambers wrote in “My Utmost for His Highest”. In a July devotion, he talks about what he calls "calculating without God." He references Psalm 37:5: "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass." 

Chambers wrote, "Don't calculate without God. God seems to have a delightful way of upsetting the things we have calculated on without taking Him into account… Haul yourself up a hundred and one times a day in order to keep your heart from being troubled, until you get into the habit of putting God first and calculating with Him in view." 

That hit me. I decided I needed to stop managing God and start truly trusting Him. Trusting Him entirely. And I couldn’t do that with conditions and backup plans. But with open hands. And an open heart. And that surrender, real surrender, was the hardest lesson of all. 

It was a lesson that carried me through the rest of 2025. And it's one I hope to continue deepening as I move forward. 

I spent years believing peace came from holding everything together – from tightening my grip. But I've learned that peace isn't found in managing more – It's found in letting go, making room for God and trusting Him with the outcome. 

And all of that was on my mind when I interviewed Joshua Becker about a few of his books; “Becoming Minimalist”, “Uncluttered Faith”,  and “Clutter Free with Kids”. 

Long before "minimalism" became a trend, Christian leaders were preaching the power of decluttering our lives. John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, emphasized extreme simplicity and faithful stewardship. In his sermon “The Use of Money”, he urged believers to "gain all you can, save all you can, and give all you can," warning  that accumulating luxuries was a burden that "chokes" the spiritual  life.  

Wesley himself lived with very few possessions; he considered it a crucial part of living a holy life and therefore freeing his heart for God's work and for helping others. 

And here is a story that really struck home for me about Wesley:

Wesley had just finished hanging and admiring some artwork he had purchased for his room when one of the chambermaids came to his door. It was a very cold winter day, and he noticed that she had only a thin linen gown to wear for protection against that cold.  

He immediately reached into his pocket to give her some money for a coat and realized he had very little left after his purchases. It struck him then that the Lord was not pleased with how he had spent his money. He asked himself: "Will Thy Master say, 'Well done, good and  faithful steward?' Thou has adorned thy walls with the money that might have screened this poor creature from the cold! O justice! O mercy! Are not these pictures the blood of this poor maid?" 

I can’t stop thinking about that. When we engage in excess, there is little left for those in need. 

And that raises an uncomfortable but necessary question: are we conducting our lives, our choices, and our spending, in a way that reflects stewardship, or self-indulgence? 

This isn't about luxury for luxury's sake. It's about whether our appetites have quietly replaced our accountability. Because every dollar, every resource, every moment we consume beyond what we  need is something that can no longer be offered to someone else. 

In a culture that celebrates more, faster, bigger; restraint has  become radical. But restraint is also where compassion lives. And maybe the measure of a life well lived isn't what we accumulate, but being mindful of making room to give. 

I shared initially in that program with Joshua Becker about control and then segued into reducing clutter which, when accumulated, is really a type of control.  

And here's the thing — we don't usually call it control. We call it  being responsible. Prepared. On top of things. But let's be honest, sometimes it's not organization we're after but reassurance. 

Most of us aren't trying to control life because we're bossy or rigid. We're doing it because life feels loud and unpredictable. And when the world feels uncertain, control feels comforting. That's where clutter sneaks in. Because clutter isn't always about having too much stuff. Sometimes it's about holding onto options, just in case. Just so we don't feel caught off guard. 

So, we keep the extra bins and the backup supplies. The things we might need someday. Even when what we're really doing is trying to manage our anxiety with labels and shelves. 

I do want to point out that order is not the enemy. God is a God of order. But order without trust can leave us exhausted. Because while control promises peace… it never actually delivers it. 

Scripture reminds us that peace doesn't come from managing every outcome. Jesus told us not to worry about tomorrow, not because tomorrow doesn't matter, but because we aren't meant to carry it. 

Sometimes the most freeing thing we can do isn't organize more, it's loosening our hold. And maybe the goal isn't a perfectly controlled life, but one where we trust God enough to release what we don't need to carry. One where we make space — not just in our  homes, but in our hearts.

For more content like this, visit Real Life Network.