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| Julia sleeps, oblivious to the mess around her at our old apartment. |
I am not a stellar housekeeper.
While I try not to let things get too dirty, clutter is another matter. I dread having to organize things; it overwhelms me. Plus, it's just not a huge priority. I'd rather play with Julia, cook dinner for my husband, or squeeze in some studying than do housework.
Ordinarily, if something is messy when I have company, my solution is to just shut the door and keep people out. I don’t have to deal with my mess and no one else does either. Usually, my bedroom is my “dirty little secret.” It is a disaster and it is somewhat embarrassing to me, but I just shut the door and don’t allow anyone in.
Julia is a small person, but she came with a lot of stuff. After she was born, it seemed we were spilling over the edges of our already crowded 800 sq. ft. apartment unit. So many things did not have a place, and I began to realize it’s impossible to pick up well if whatever you pick up does not have a home. We were cramming junk in the corners and along the walls of the bedroom, second bedroom, living room, laundry room…. basically anywhere and everywhere. It was bad. No longer was my embarrassing mess confined to my bedroom. It was the whole apartment.
When we bought our house, friends offered to come help us organize, pack, clean, and move, and we told them we’d take them up on it. But really, I secretly hoped we would only need help with the moving part. Our plan was to move in over the course of a week– packing up boxes little by little and bringing them over to the house, making small trips every day. At the end of the week, we hoped we would have had neat stacks of perfectly labeled cardboard boxes and, at that point, call our friends to help us finish moving everything from point A to point B.
As the week drew to a close, though, we began to realize that we were nowhere near that goal. Thursday evening, my sister and her fiancée were kind enough to come over to help. Even after working hard that night, there was still so much left to do.
So, I took a deep breath, and I opened the doors! I invited my friends into the disaster of my apartment and asked for the help they had offered long ago. They packed boxes, wiped shelves and countertops, cleaned the bathroom, mopped floors. They moved almost everything but the furniture from point A to point B. There was no way we could have done it without them. They saved the day. We felt so loved.
My parents had offered to pay for movers for the furniture, and the movers moved the furniture the next morning. We were so grateful to my parents and again felt so loved.
When we moved to our new house, we set to work organizing some areas of our house, like the kitchen. Others, we figured we would get around to sooner or later. With a three-month-old baby, classes, tests, and studying for our upcoming boards, I figured that realistically it might be a while until we had time to finish unpacking and organizing.
However, I am happy to say that every room has now been dealt with! My wonderful in-laws came into town last week and my mother-in-law is in town again this week to watch Julia while we're in school , as my mom is recovering from knee replacement surgery, and they have been a huge help in getting our house organized. And yet again, we are so grateful and feel so loved.
I learned a few things from these experiences. These were great exercises in letting go of pride. You know what? I can’t do it all on my own. And neither can you. No one can. And it’s okay. Had I let my pride stand in the way, moving out on time would have been impossible, not to mention ridiculously stressful, and our new house would still be looking so much worse. It was freeing to allow people into those places I usually carefully guard. Letting go is good for me.
So often, I don’t want God to come into my ugliness. I tell Him He can help me, but I secretly only want Him to come in when I’m finished cleaning. I think I’ll be ready for Him when I have neat stacks of perfectly labeled cardboard boxes in my soul. But this attitude is so silly! If Christ is truly my Savior, I have to let Him do just that – save me! I have to allow Him into the ugliest places, the squalor in my soul, to cleanse me and renew me. I have to come to the same realization in my spiritual life that I finally came to that late Thursday night – I cannot do this on my own. I need Jesus. Jesus wants to come into my messiness and save the day; He died for opportunity to do so. Why would I try to keep out a friend who loves me that much?
“For Christ, while we were still helpless, yet died at the appointed time for the ungodly. Indeed, only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:6-8
I really experienced God’s love by allowing my friends and family to serve me. Too often, I remind myself of Peter. Christ bends down to wash my feet and I jump up and hotly refuse. But, Jesus reminds me that if I want an inheritance with Him, I must allow my feet to be washed. By allowing Him to wash my feet through the service given by my friends and family, I experienced the love of God and learned more about Him. Additionally, allowing others the opportunity to wash feet by loving on us can be a blessing to the givers! What beauty can be found when we open the doors and allow others into the mess!
