The House

It was a decent looking house on top of a hill. The paint looked alright. Maybe it is just slightly dirty due to exposure to the elements, but the paint is still decent looking. The lawn was kept trim. The gate seemed to be cranky from overuse, but that could be repaired. Overall, it was not too bad.

This house is my house.

Walking in the house, we step into the living room. Not bad. Furniture was arranged well and tastefully. A short, wide corridor leads to the dining area which also looks as if it was arranged well and tastefully. The kitchen looks a little bit messy and greasy, but it was a well equipped kitchen. One would have all the tools and cooking aids they need to cook good food.

This house is my house.

We move on upstairs. The bedroom looks good. The bed is large and comfortable. The clothes were arranged nicely in a wardrobe. The toilet was quite clean and well maintained. What a comfortable place to be indeed. Similarly, the second and third bedrooms were also nice and comfortable.

This house is... wait.. where are we going? We shouldn't be heading there. Wa-

-it.

The storeroom. We stand facing the storeroom. It was double bolted. "What's this?" I hear You say. I don't know how to answer. All that came out of my mouth was "Nothing worth seeing." Wait. Don't bother with the storeroom, okay? Wait.. Wait.. please don't open it. Don't open it!

Junk rains down on us. We managed to step out of the way to avoid being hit by the mountain of junk. I stand speechless as you stoop down to take a look at the junk. Pride, lust, anger, disobedience, laziness, gluttony, destructive behaviour... the 'inventory check' goes on. I remain speechless.

"What's all these junk doing here?" I hear You say.
I remain speechless.
"Why are you keeping all these?" You continue to probe.
"I can't throw them away. Just somehow." I finally say, staring at the ground.
"Anyway, you were wrong about the house. It is not your house. It is Mine. I bought this house from you but allowed you to stay in this house, remember?" You say, showing me the documents. Indeed, the house isn't mine. It was bought for a very high price. A price paid in blood. Your own blood. I continue staring at the ground.
"Give me the keys to the house." You say.
I dig my hand into my pocket and hand the keys over.
"I will be cleaning the house. Whatever that I see that is unfit for this place, I will get rid of it. I will start with this junk."
"But those belong to me." I protested.
"It's nothing but junk. I'm clearing the place so that you can receive better things. So which is it that you want? This junk or treasures that are to come?" He questioned.
I stare at the ground again. "Do as You will, my Lord."

This is not my house. It belongs to my Lord. All the junk I have accumulated over the years should go.