Satisfied Sighs

I look around my almost too clean house with a satisfied sigh. About hour #4 my kids began to understand the brevity of what they'd done by waking Chris and they quit complaining. They worked, bless their hearts. For 7 hours. My house is amazing. Sparkling clean. Just don't go to my room. That didn't get touched. Ugh.

At one point early on, one of them collapsed on the floor, too tired to go on. My question was "I'm sorry, did you just run up three flights of stairs to get to a code? Have you done chest compressions for an hour without a break? No? Then get up and quit whining. You're still not working as hard as Daddy." She.. oops.. the anonymous child got up and with minimal complaints got back to work. Chris felt that I was a bit harsh since he didn't do either of those things last night either. But he could have. That, my friend, is the point. Respect your Daddy child.

But as I look around, I know in the back of my mind that it won't always look this way. I think it was this that my mother pursued until her death: a quick fix to becoming someone that she was not. I am never going to wake up one morning and suddenly think in an organized fashion. I'll likely never get to a point where I even see all of the clutter that other people see. Everyone has certain flaws that stick with them all their lives. Everyone. This is mine. I am not naturally organized. I tend toward messiness. It's one of my most battled flaws.

And that's not so bad really. Because in these flaws I experience grace. These very flaws remind me that I'm broken, not all put together, imperfect. Brokenness points me to what I long for... perfection. I want a righteousness of my own. I want to do it myself. But every time I look at my dusty ceiling fan or cluttered desk my self-righteousness is cut to the quick. And sometimes that feels like worthlessness or depression when really it is God cutting out the heart of an idol.

I will never be organized or a neat freak. This shows me that I will never be able to build a righteousness of my own. The only righteousness I can claim is Christ's. And when I claim that righteousness, my heart is comforted. I am relieved of a burden that is not even mine to carry. I still strive for cleanliness but with the knowledge that I'll never do it perfectly. I still walk out my salvation knowing that God's pleasure in me has nothing to do with my closets. And I sigh again with satisfaction. Hmmm. Enjoying this moment of shalom.