My best friend and I have often joked about how different our ideas of a clean house are. She is a deep cleaner. She enjoys the floors scrubbed, the sinks spotless and the rugs washed. Often times, a stack of magazines will need to be moved in order to scrub the floors, or a pile of clothes might need to relocate for the rugs to get soaked, but the deep cleaning is important to her. Now in my house, deep cleaning is something that happens only when my sweet sister-in-law comes over to help. But I hate clutter. When I clean, I don’t get the floor wax out (I honestly don’t even know how to use that stuff, sorry mom). I get boxes and garbage bags out, so I can throw stuff away. I don’t like piles of dishes, piles of clothes or piles of anything visible to my eye. I like the kitchen counter cleared off (even if the dirty dishes are in the sink), the living room floor has to be free of stuff, and my room…well even if the clothes are not hung up, they are off the floor and on a chair. She and I have often laughed at how we, combined, would make the perfect housekeeper.
My mind works best with order. Everything has its place. I will survey a room and see what still needs to be kept and what can go to the curb to make my life simpler.
Before the accident, I had most of my life clutter free. I knew where things belonged, everything had its place and if something seemed to be taking too much space, I would remove it. I didn’t take on tasks that I couldn’t complete with excellence, I didn’t say yes to requests, unless I knew I could carry them out. Now, living in a post-accident, state of mind, my answer to most everything is “I don’t know.”
I don’t know what a good day looks like.
I don’t know how I’m living without my Grace.
I don’t know why I’m not angrier.
I don’t know who is to blame.
I just don’t know.
Right now we are in the middle of a minor renovation. A small office area outside of Evie’s room is being transformed into a lounge area. She wanted somewhere to watch movies with her friends, hang out, and she also wanted a bench that could be made into a bed, so that her friends could have a place to sleep.
Because of that renovation, my house is cluttered. There are boxes filled with DVDs in the living room, piles of papers on the desk, and everything that doesn’t have a spot to go, is sitting on Evie’s bedroom floor.
But my house resembles my heart right now. Nothing has a specific place, everything is out of order and I desperately want to declutter, but I can’t. I’m learning, even though it hurts, that there is no order in a house of grief, there is no cleaning up piles of tears, I can’t throw away memory’s, even the tiniest ones, because memory’s are all I have now.
These are the moments that God reminds me that He has a perfect plan. He will clean things up, in His time, and He will teach me lessons in the midst of the clutter, if I will listen. Even though I want to fix this, I can’t, but He can. Daily I hand my clutter back to Him because I just don’t know what else to do with it, but He does.
God is good, in my best friend’s house, where the floors are clean; and God is good, in my messy, cluttered, house. My house is in the middle of a renovation, but so is my heart, and nothing is where it should be, but God is still good.