"When Jane and I got married more than twenty years ago now, I moved into a parsonage that she had already lived in for nearly seven years. It was a comfortable house—three bedrooms, a full basement, only one bathroom, but we love each other so it worked out OK.
I discovered one problem when I moved in—every square inch of closet space was already occupied.
There was no place to put my clothes! I ended up with two linear feet of closet space in the bedroom at the very back of the house.
I see you smiling. You know what I’m talking about.
When we moved to Connecticut three years later my priority in our search for a place to live was, you guessed it, bigger closets—room for more stuff. I had visions of perfectly organized closets, of being king of closets the size of small countries. To be master of ample storage, all in good order, with room for everything from my nicest Sunday suit to my knock-around-the-house overalls, not to mention those things that I don’t need right now, but that might come in handy someday.
I was awake in the small hours of the morning trying to decide how I would fill all those closets. And when I thought I had it all figured out I said to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years, (and stored neatly in closets): relax, eat, drink, be merry.” And I finally got some sleep.
Then we moved. And, to my dismay, my clothes were once again relegated to two linear feet in the bedroom at the very back of the house. Jane was pregnant with our twin daughters. “We’ll need that space for the babies’ clothes,” I was informed. Even worse, they’re teenagers now, and my clothes are even more jammed into the corner. They’re going away to college soon, but I don’t think that will open up a lot of closet space. I could be wrong, but I’m not hopeful.
Maybe, if I ever have enough closet space, I’ll stop worrying about tomorrow..."