Then I think about getting rid of most of my stuff.
Then I feel righteous for wanting to get rid of my stuff.
Then I realize that my spiritual sensibilities are not as precious as I think, and that I am merely lazy and don't want to move all of this stuff.
Randy Alcorn wrote a book almost 20 years ago called "Money, Possessions, and Eternity." He says there's two errors we can fall into when it comes to our stuff. One is blatant materialism, popularized by the health and wealth preachers, whose basic message is that Jesus died on the cross so we can have better stuff. The goal of the Christian life, it seems, is to make Jesus look good by acquiring more and flashier stuff.
Another error is asceticism, which teaches that having little or no earthly stuff earns us spiritual money to buy heavenly stuff. This one is subtler than the previous one. We see someone who has given up stuff entirely, and we think, "aren't they spiritual?" But God made stuff, and He doesn't mind our having stuff. We're just not supposed to worship it.
Here's a poem I wrote about the desire for stuff we don't have:
Introit
My dog’s dearest wish: squat legs and fishhook claws
to mimic the zero-gravity antics of squirrels.
My wall’s dearest wish: better bone structure,
to halt this swayback travel downward.
My rug’s dearest wish: a trip to Arabia,
to sample pedigree and aviation.
My roof’s dearest wish: a hurricane, to suck it up
into the storm for once, instead of crouching in dread.
My car’s dearest wish: shocks tense as prayer,
to bound over potholes and railroad tracks.
My heart’s dearest wish: a poem that strikes
at forever so squarely, and money to buy it with.

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