I had a 25 percent-off coupon for Barnes and Noble, and so I headed to the bookstore. That, combined with the member discount, is a really decent deal. Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the store and walked around for nearly two hours and realized that I wanted…nothing.

Everything that has happened in my life this year, from the financial to the spiritual to the emotional has left me, this Christmas, in the rather unique position of wanting nothing that money can buy. My small apartment has limited space. My small life has been packed full and wrung out. I feel keenly how much excess I currently have.

“What do you want for Christmas, Julie?” I’ve been asked.

I can’t think of anything, really.

I may need a winter jacket in the coming years, but I think I’m good for at least this winter and the next. My tea strainer is starting to rust, but really, it still functions. I’m a bit low on toilet paper but you can be sure I’ll take care of that pronto. My winter hat probably needs an upgrade, but it should finish out this season just fine. I want my family and friends to know I love them.

There’s no thing that I need, and right now that’s translating into wanting no thing.

I want to get rid of all the clothes I don’t like wearing. I want to get rid of the worn-out T-shirts that I can’t seem to part with. I want to get rid of the frivolous socks that aren’t warm. I want to get rid of books I don’t like or won’t re-read. I want to use up all of my stationery. I want to throw away most of my makeup. I want to find a use or a home for my art materials, and then get rid of the containers that are storing them all. I want to set up a sidewalk stand and mark all my old art at low prices and just get it out of my life and free up actual living and creative space.

For Christmas this year, what I want can’t be bought and it seems God is in no hurry to walk me through the things it’ll take to get there. Other than that, it seems that what I really want is to get rid of stuff that I’m not using, needing, or even liking, because this stuff is killing me.

It comes in from the walls, almost, and squeezes me out.

I want so much less, so that there can be an echo and maybe I can hear what I’ve been missing in all this distraction.

I want empty closets, with fewer shoes and clothes. I want to wear things out, use them up, and find the backs of shelves and bottoms of drawers. I want only the books I will re-read or use or treasure. It seems that I hang onto the old while accumulating the new; there’s not enough room for it all, whether it’s things or life.

I don’t feel as if I’ve had my own epiphany, that I’ve arrived and finally understand the true meaning of Christmas. Instead, I feel worn out and cheated. Cheated by stuff. Mastered by hoarding. Controlled by planning for the worst by somehow living the concept of buying in bulk.

Why do I need five black T-shirts? All those shoes? Five Bibles? Why do I need to stock up on anything? Someone else is taking care of me, so why take on that burden if I don’t have to? I unnecessarily complicate my life and the stuff wins. A few Sunday’s back, Pastor Kermit’s message was on how we needed to get to a point where we didn’t want more, but were satisfied with enough.

I’m not there just yet, but closer.

So I stood with a coupon in the Bismarck Barnes and Noble and thought of all the ink and paper and profit around me, and ended up buying Scroogenomics, which is a book about why we shouldn’t buy presents for Christmas, which has the recommendation on the back as the perfect Christmas gift, which is ironic, and which, as I walked out of the store having spent about $5, means I haven’t beaten the beast just yet.

I don’t really want anything this Christmas. What I want is The Everything. There’s no coupon for that, just the passage and hard time of daily life.