Hey Reader,

A few weeks ago, I gave a talk called Less Stuff, More God at my church. It was one of the most meaningful nights I’ve had on a stage in a long time.

And even if church isn’t your thing, I think you’ll relate to everything that comes next.

The emails started coming in the next day.

One stopped me completely.

A reader wrote to tell me about her widowed parent. The house is full and overwhelming. Walkways are narrow. And as her mom's steadiness has declined, the stuff has quietly become a safety hazard. Tripping hazards. Fall risks. The kind of thing that doesn’t announce itself, it just waits.

The hardest part? Her mom can’t see it. Or won’t. Not because anything is wrong with them, but because that house is a life. Forty, fifty years of living in one place. Every drawer, every closet, every shelf tells a story.

I hear this more than almost anything else.

And it reminded me of a book I want to share with you.

​The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson.

Don’t let the title scare you. It is short, funny, and completely to the point. There are very few books that I own in hard copy, but this is one of them.

The premise is simple: go through your things, intentionally, at whatever age you are, so your loved ones don’t have to do it while they’re grieving.

That’s it.

But here’s what I want to say plainly, because I think it needs to be said:

They are not equipped to make those decisions. They are heartbroken. And now they are also overwhelmed.

That is not the legacy anyone wants to leave.

The good news, as the author says, is that this process doesn’t have to be sad. In fact, she argues it shouldn’t be. Spending time with your things intentionally, reliving the memory, deciding what will stay or go, can actually be enjoyable.

But it requires time.

And intention. And starting before a crisis forces your hand.

Here’s what I know from years of helping families through this work:

Most people wait until six months before a move to start. By then, a realtor needs rooms painted, the house staged, boxes get packed instead of decisions getting made, and nothing actually gets resolved. It gets relocated.

The real timeline? One to two years. Minimum. If you want to do it right, and not lose your mind and run yourself into the ground. (I've done this in six months, so I know what I'm talking about.)

If you want to honor what you’ve built and make it easier for the people you love, you need to start long before anyone is ready to list the house.

Aging is not for weaklings. Neither is downsizing. But waiting for a health crisis or worse, leaving it for after, makes both so much harder than they need to be.

Death cleaning isn’t about death.

• It’s about creating a home that’s lighter, easier to maintain, and full of only what you actually use and love.
• It's about living your life.
• It’s about having more time for the people and experiences that matter.
• It’s about leaving something behind that says I thought of you, not I’m sorry.

If you’re a Baby Boomer, this book is for you.

If you’re a Gen Xer watching your parents’ home fill up, this book is for them and for you.

If you’re anyone else and feel tired and busy, I’d argue it’s for you, too.

Start with the easy stuff. Whatever that is for you (attic, kitchen, clothing), it helps build up your "letting-go" muscle. And you’re going to need that muscle for the harder decisions ahead.

It's never too soon to start.

One box at a time.

Amy

P.S. If you missed my talk, Less Stuff, More God, and want the replay, just hit reply and let me know. I’ll send it to you.

Do you have a church that might like to hear this message live? Let me know. I'm open to traveling too!

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