"We need a bigger house," my wife said, as we looked around the living room, the floor covered with blocks and toy action figures, books stacked on the floor near our overburdened bookcase, and the kitchen table buried under who knows what.

"Yeah," I agreed, "the four of us don't fit in this two-bedroom, one-bath house anymore."

The word "anymore" hung in the air, reminding us that when Michael, our second son, was born, we weren't concerned about the size of our house.

"You know," my wife continued, "maybe we don't need a bigger house. Maybe we just need fewer things."

That's how our mission to purge the clutter began. And somewhere along the way, we discovered that fewer things not only freed up more living space, it also freed up more time to spend together as a family and with God, and helped us prioritize what was really important.

By getting rid of things, we realized how insignificant they were and how foolish we had been for spending so much time and energy obtaining them, ignoring each other, our kids, and God in the process.

So where did we start? We needed to lay some ground rules. After a heated debate over a large bowl of French vanilla ice cream, we agreed to the following principles:

If we haven't used it in a year, get rid of it. Clothes we hadn't worn, toys the boys hadn't played with, books which had gone unread were packed up and given to the Goodwill or our church. The exception to the "one year" rule were family mementos—family photos, cards my wife and I had exchanged through the years, and crafts by our older son David—especially any that said, "I love you, Daddy," "Happy Daddy's Day," and my favorite "Daddy's better than pizza."

If we have two, give one away. From wedding gifts to Christmas and birthday gifts, we had our share of plates, glasses, kitchen appliances, and ties. Way too many ties. We picked out what we needed and donated the rest.

If it promotes bad habits, it has to go. Items that took time away from the family or from God had to go. That included computer games and many of our secular novels. We also debated sticking the TV in the closet or canceling cable. But, alas, my spirit was willing but the flesh too weak. (A man needs his 150 channels, you know).

Raid the pantry. Living in Miami, we have our Hurricane supplies close at hand—plenty of canned foods and bottled water. But one can get carried away. We took inventory and donated the extra.

Do we need this? If the item didn't meet our physical, emotional, or spiritual needs, we decided it probably shouldn't stay in the house. My exercise machine stayed; my gourmet ice cream maker did not.

A month later, we have almost completed our mission. The floor is clean; we can eat at the dining room table and look at all our closet space. But accommodating a family of four in two bedrooms, and small ones at that, was not our biggest accomplishment. It was what we learned about how things not only clutter our houses, but also our lives and our relationship with God. What we learned could be best summed up as follows:

Society tells us that happiness can be bought, that if we buy the big house and fancy car we'll be happy. Like a glass of water quenches one's thirst, things can—for a time—satisfy our yearning for fulfillment in life. But this is only temporary. Only God can fulfill us completely.

As Jesus told the Samaritan woman, everyone who drinks water from the well will be thirsty again, "but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:13-14, NIV).

I realized that I wasn't going to cure my sadness and depression by buying more things. Happiness would only come through prayer, reading God's Word, and obeying it.

Material stuff takes precious time to acquire and use—time better spent with God and one's family. That big house demands that you work late at the office so you can pay the mortgage. Time with the DVD player or Sony PlayStation is time not spent with the family and God. By shattering the control things had over our lives, we were able to find time for each other, our kids, and the Lord.

The more you have, the greater the temptation to turn your back on God. We are often tempted to praise ourselves for having acquired so much, or even make the things themselves the object of praise. Nebuchadnezzar took credit for building Babylon, ignoring the fact that God had given him his power. His son, Belshazzar, praised the gods of gold and silver as he drank from the gold and silver goblets seized from the temple of Jerusalem. But God stripped Nebuchadnezzar of his power, making him eat grass like a wild donkey and used the Medes to slay his son (Dan. 4:28-33; 5:30-31). Like these kings, having a house full of stuff made me feel self-sufficient. By stripping away these things, I realized how dependent I am on God.

This may sound drastic, but it was Jesus who said, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matt. 19:24). I am not suggesting that a believer can forfeit his salvation by owning too many things, but those same things can stand between non-believers and God.

Furthermore, for Christians, building up wealth on earth can interfere with building up wealth in heaven. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven …. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" (Matt. 6:19-21). The energy I spent accumulating more things is now spent on strengthening our faith and family relationships.

When we tackled the mess in our house, I thought it would be nothing more than a spring cleaning. It turned out to be so much more. It taught us that things can control our lives, distracting us from the things that will endure beyond this world.

By throwing out boxes and boxes of stuff, we shattered the control those possessions had over us. Something that can be thrown away has no power at all. And when the things were gone, we looked around to see what was left and saw each other, our two boys, and God.

We need to clean more often.