Undignified
Over the past month, bedlam, turmoil, disorder, confusion, pandemonium, disruption, and havoc have knocked on my front door and then without getting permission first, permanently moved into my home. To be honest, I have brought it upon myself, but still…
Summertime creates in my life a little bit of space, a little bit of room, and a little bit of availability to work on projects that normally would push me over the edge or remain incomplete during a school year. So, Project #1 involved painting our daughters’ bedroom. This may sound simple. It is NOT simple. If we had just moved into the house and there was nothing in the room, that would be simple. But the treasures and collections and clothes and libraries of two teenage girls (13 and 16) definitely UNsimplifies this task. Pre-painting involves so much more than just putting frog tape on the appropriate places and spaces. I won’t delve into the details, but let’s just summarize by saying my husband did the actual painting part of the job, and I did the rest of preparing and then restoring. In two words, draining and time-consuming.
However, not to be deterred, I began on Project #2 with a positive attitude. Shampooing/wet vacuuming the carpeted spaces in our house felt like another job that needed time and space in the schedule. In fact, it took six separate portions of time of moving furniture and possessions to various places before the task was complete. This included temporarily displacing things like pianos, TV cabinets, bookshelves, couches, and hutches and then moving them back with all their contents. The results were SO worth it, I won’t deny that, but the craziness of it all was a bit of a challenge for the week and a half that it took to complete every inch of carpeting being cleaned.
To be honest, I could have lived with accomplishing those two Big Things for the summer, but it was not to be. Project #3, which really came with a Part A, Part B, Part C, and Part D to it, called incessantly and became what was next not long after House Project #2 was finished.
Our oldest (18) and our youngest (12) have shared a room for all of the youngest child’s life. But an 18 year old boy and a 12 year old boy get to a point where they just need their space, and so we came up with a realistic way to do this without selling our house and buying a new one. We decided to divide the family room in the lower level of our tri-level house into a bedroom. However, much maneuvering and relocation of “stuff” involved four different rooms of the house as we rearranged.
I just want to focus on one particular day of this adventure (I will try to use that optimistic and hopeful word for this project) a moment here. Remember as you read this that the carpeting has been newly restored to its light khaki color. We are in a pretty good phase of the move - the oldest has slept in his new room for one night at the point this story takes place, and the youngest is thrilled beyond belief to have his OWN room and is working to personalize it and make it all his.
Our dog got up from his spot on the couch and walked to the middle of the floor. He had gotten into the garbage not long before and looked a little miserable. When I suggested he go get a drink, he instead vomited all over the middle of the living room carpeting. This is not a place that will ever be hidden by a shelf or a hutch or a couch: this is prime property in the living room... the part that everybody sees. I stand up and scream in horror and frustration; one of the kids comes rushing in, evaluates the scene correctly, and hurriedly puts the dog outside on his lead. Another one peeks his head out his bedroom door, also correctly evaluates the situation, and pulls his head back in the door and quietly closes the door. I gather my wits about me, pick up the solid part of the mess, and spray the Resolve on what’s left behind. I then go up to see what the noise I hear coming from the bedroom is as I have my suspicions. Two things have happened that could also cause me to scream (but for the record, I don’t). Precious Child #4 has installed a “hat rack” he created out of plywood on his wall, and it is NOT level. It’s very much slanted, and it took two nail holes to install this wonder of ingenuity. And one of the bookshelves is no longer where I remember it being the last time I was up there. If I were to draw a line from where it WAS to where it IS… well, I wouldn’t have to, because THERE’S ALREADY A LINE! What I mean by that (I’m not screaming even though I’m using all caps, by the way) is that when Baby Boy, now a dozen years, decided to move the completely full and very heavy bookshelf, somehow there was a black crayon underneath it, and the entire time he shoved it across the room (8-10 feet?), it was marking its path by inscribing a trail of waxy black crayon across the wooden floor.
Perhaps you’re reading this wondering what on earth this has to do with God or Christianity. I’m getting there. It took me a bit, but I’m ready to make the connection here. On page 41 of Liturgy of the Ordinary, Harrison writes that we have a “call to gratitude and worship in the midst of the most undignified parts of our day”. So as I was on my knees scrub-scrub-scrubbing the dog vomit out of my carpeting
or as I was on my knees
scrub-scrub-scrubbing the crayon off the bedroom floor,
it was kind of like kneeling down to pray. At least I think that’s what she’s wanting me to feel and to write and to think and perhaps even try to believe.
So as I reflect on these incidents earlier this week, I look for how my thoughts could have been less focused on the material and temporary concern of my home being destroyed and desecrated and more toward what God wanted me to find in my heart and thoughts at that time.
I have to first off admit that looking for gratitude was definitely not my number one thought in those moments, nor was it my second or third... But I am trying now with 36 hours of separation to see the blessings - maybe it’s the idea of thankfulness that my home itself is a gift from God. I don’t have to live in a one or two room house with a dozen other people like perhaps some third world families do. My house is climate-controlled, and on this hot week of several days in the 90s, I don’t have to sweat (as much) as I would if I were doing this somewhere else without that blessing. In fact, this is a rare occurrence: I don’t scrub floors for a living or clean up after sickness for a paycheck. My ways of bringing in finances to our family are “right up my alley” and enjoyable to me. Nobody in my family is chronically sick or on medications or regularly hospitalized: we have been blessed with good health. My son is strong and independent and creative and eager - all excellent words to be. None of these things are permanent - we can fix the holes in the wall, and the crayon is gone. The carpeting is essentially back to its original coloring.
Maybe some of these realizations are things that I should be focused on rather than a few rather unfortunate accidents and how they make my life a tiny bit more stressful momentarily. I wasn’t sure how I could take these undignified moments and clothe them with dignity, but God has helped me focus more on the positives and far less on the negative. Paul had a habit of doing precisely that in his writing and in his life, so I will end with his encouragement and admonition: “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” Philippians 4:4
