Inexorable Tidy

Exactly when my family needs to leave for an extended time away from home, a switch goes off in me and I run around cleaning madly—wiping sinks, counters, picking up newspaper recycling, sweeping the kitchen, straightening pillows on the couches.  What is this?  Is it an instinctual nesting thing? Can I blame my Maker for this, or is it some result of the Fall of mankind?  I think (and say out loud to the victims, my family) that this 10-second tidy happens because I want to come back to a lovely and inviting home later.  But maybe it is something more sinister, like some new “D” to add to ADD, OCD, BPD, RAD, or whatever.  Looks like I finally get letters after my name, for free.

Usually the clean sweep is relegated to the downstairs, but yesterday I made the mistake of going back upstairs for something forgotten and looked at my children’s rooms and husband’s home office. Now, as the only tidy person in my family of four, it is never a surprise to see what looks like utter bedlam when I pass these doors.  Usually, I tune it out.  But oh for the love of humanity, I now know that if I pass their doors when I am in my inexorable nesting/cleaning/leaving the house loop, all heck will break loose as I attack the chaos, while complaining bitterly against the hapless inhabitant of the space.   My pupils dilated.  My vision narrowed.  I swooped in.

One room I couldn’t do anything for.  I may have picked up some Halloween candy wrappers, but quickly saw it was a battle too large. “I am so sick of this!” I spat to the husband who happened to be within ear-shot.  The other child’s room became reasonably presentable within a few minutes, save for the mountainous pile of clean laundry shoved into the closet. The husband’s teetering coffee cups, plates and bowls were sent downstairs with the instigator to put into the dishwasher, with a little scolding, as well.  All the things I pretend don’t bother me daily I said out loud, unkindly—the standard, Why am I the one who gets to clean everyone else’s mess –just as we are leaving for church.  Yep, church.  You know, that place where we’re all supposed to love and accept each other, messes and all. 

The car ride was an especially silent one as I simmered and fumed about my family’s lack of concern for me.  Not only do I get to do all their work, but they all look wounded that I’m being mean to them about it.  So, I’m supposed to do all your work with a smile?  Bitter thoughts, bitter thoughts, on the way to the House of the Lord.

We walked in the doors of church, late of course, and though I wanted to blame my family’s untidy habits, I could only blame myself. Feigning a smile as the tears threatened, I joined the prayer circle that had already begun sharing requests before services.  I wondered if people could see the guilt on my face.  As we prayed, I wanted to say out loud “Forgive us our messes,” and fortunately by then I meant my own.  I was too ashamed to admit my frailty out loud, but God heard my silent prayer.  Enough time had passed for my temper to flare out, and I saw how ugly my own sin looked, my own mess, whatever this “D” is.  I am the one whose heart needs the most forgiveness.  I was so glad, so relieved, to be there with others who also know we need a Savior.   Real people, real love, real life is our motto, after all.

 Our messes may look different from each other, but we all need the Father’s grace to forgive others and our selves.  The timing for my temper tantrum may have been horrible, or it may have been perfect, as I fell into God’s gracious arms during worship and nodded gratefully as Pastor Kyle preached his classic sermon about Jesus: “People are dying; there is a Cure; Jesus is the Cure.”  I’m clinging to the Cure today.  How about you?