This one might strike a nerve, amigos. Or three. But since I can’t see you and you can’t reach me…  we gonna get down the nitty-gritty of our containers. Yes, those containers. His, hers, mine and yours. The cardboard boxes… the plastic bins… the forgotten… the ignored… all of it.  So here’s the question on the awkward table between us: If God impressed upon your heart a move—across town, across the country, to another country—how soon could you pack up and get out? I don’t want to be known for my stuff. But if I’m in a constant state of avoiding piles, adding more boxes to the rafters and…