A while back, I said something to a friend that stuck with me: “My life is like my garage.” At the time, those words carried the weight of confession—an admission that things had become cluttered, disorganized, and overwhelming. Today, as I stand in that same garage, now considerably cleaner and more organized, I’ve learned something unexpected: a clean garage doesn’t automatically translate to a transformed life.

The connection between my garage and my life seemed obvious when I first made the comparison. Both spaces had accumulated years of unnecessary items, half-finished projects, and things I’d been meaning to deal with “someday.” The physical chaos of my garage mirrored the internal disorder I felt but couldn’t quite articulate. It was easier to point to the boxes stacked haphazardly and the tools scattered across the workbench than to acknowledge the deeper mess within.

So I cleaned the garage. I sorted, organized, donated, and threw away. I created systems and designated spaces for everything. The transformation was visible and satisfying. But here’s what I didn’t expect: my life remained largely unchanged. The anxiety didn’t disappear. The patterns that needed breaking persisted. The relationships that needed attention still languished. Cleaning my garage had been productive, but it hadn’t been transformative.

Looking back, I realize the real catalyst for change wasn’t my decision to organize storage bins or install better shelving. The biggest reason my garage got cleaned up as much as it did was because of facing three major storms that came into my life. These weren’t gentle rain showers or passing clouds—they were the kind of tempests that strip away pretense and force you to deal with what truly matters. When storms of that magnitude blow through, suddenly the trivial falls away. You find yourself holding onto only what’s essential and letting go of everything else, whether you’re ready or not.

Those storms cleaned more than my garage. They exposed the fragility of my carefully constructed facade. They revealed priorities I’d been ignoring and relationships I’d been neglecting. They forced conversations I’d been avoiding and decisions I’d been postponing. The garage became clean almost as a side effect of the larger upheaval—when your world is shaking, you discover quickly what deserves space and what doesn’t.

But here’s the tension I now wrestle with: my hope is that I can change without the severe storm coming into my life and making me change accordingly. Is it possible to experience genuine transformation without being forced into it by crisis? Can I choose to grow, to let go, to reorganize my priorities without first being broken by circumstances beyond my control?

I believe the answer is yes, but it comes with a significant requirement. To change proactively rather than reactively, I must be willing to be sensitive to the leading of the Lord and be willing to change. Those words—”must be willing to change”—carry more weight than they might initially suggest.

Willingness isn’t the same as wanting. I wanted a clean garage long before I actually cleaned it. I want to be a better person, but wanting alone doesn’t produce transformation. Willingness involves surrender—a conscious choice to release control and respond to guidance even when it’s uncomfortable. It means paying attention to the quiet promptings before they become loud crises. It requires honesty about what needs to change and humility to admit I can’t change on my own.

The leading of the Lord often comes in whispers, not windstorms. It arrives in moments of conviction during prayer, through wisdom spoken by friends, in circumstances that gently redirect rather than forcibly uproot. But I’ve noticed something about myself: I’m much better at responding to hurricanes than to breezes. The storms get my attention because they demand it. The gentle leading requires something more difficult—intentional listening and voluntary obedience.

My garage stands as a reminder of both possibilities. It represents change forced by circumstances, which was real and necessary. But it also represents an ongoing invitation to choose transformation before crisis demands it. Every time I walk through that organized space, I’m confronted with a question: Will I wait for the next storm to force the next necessary change, or will I cultivate the kind of sensitivity and willingness that allows me to change now?

The truth is, life will always be like my garage in some way. There will always be areas that need attention, items that need sorting, and spaces that could use reorganization. The question isn’t whether change is needed—it’s how that change will come about. Will it be forced by storms, or chosen through surrender?

I’m learning that the latter requires more courage than the former. It’s braver to change when you don’t have to than to change when you have no other choice. And it’s in that voluntary willingness to be sensitive and responsive to divine leading that real, lasting transformation becomes possible—garage or no garage.

Hey, this is Russ and I’m still Living It Daily… See ya next time…

All views expressed are strictly the opinion of the writer

© October 31, 2025 – all rights reserved

Rusty Norman, LivingItDaily.com

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