My mother took the tree down on New Year’s Day. She attacked the decorations as the sun rose and had everything boxed up by 9. The tree was out the door and everything was vacuumed by 10. I lamented every moment of it.

I hadn’t heard of Epiphany yet back then. But even if I had, I couldn’t have made an argument against her desire to “clear it all out” and get the new year started.

She had unfailing faith in fresh starts. A new year promised good things, a chance to get things right, or righter. Her drawers, never cluttered, got more uncluttered. She sometimes couldn’t find her car keys, but otherwise, she was the epitome of order.

For my Dad, equally orderly, the New Year meant the satisfaction of starting new account books for his business and home. Everything was written down. Every penny was accounted for.

I think of them daily, but never more than on New Year’s Day. I often imagine my mother still with me, surveying my version of order, shaking her head, and tackling it just as she did that Christmas tree. She would have it all boxed up, one way or the other, before the dinner bell. “Do you really need this?” was her battle cry.

My New Year’s Resolution always is to lose the sentiment I feel towards the “things” I hold on to. “Do I really need this?” No. But why is it so hard to act on that truth? The suggestion that one take pictures of favorite worn-out clothes before tossing them helps. But what about the files filled with memorabilia from decades of students who now are parents themselves? Or postcards in elegant script sent from cherished people long gone. Do I really need those?

I won’t solve the problem in this life. But I hold out hope. My vision of Heaven, while not theologically sound, is a place where the file drawers are minimal, sweaters are perfectly folded on shelves, and all of the Tupperware has lids that fit. It’s also a place where the tug of sentiment over a scrap of paper is lifted into the joy of spiritual wholeness and reunion.

Meanwhile it’s New Year’s Day. Our decorations are up until Epiphany. But my mother’s admonition rings in my ear clearer than any proverbial New Year’s bell. Get up, clear away the clutter, prepare for what is coming. I hear you, momma. I’m giving it my best.