Lately I have been a little obsessed with ORDER. It is something I have been working my tail off to achieve in my home. Chaos is completely overrated and I really don't like it. So ORDER has become my goal. And I have made some big strides, thrown out a lot of stuff and helped the kids learn how to do more around the house. And it has made a difference, a very big difference in how things are around here.
Then, we have those busy weeks, and things start to get a little chaotic again.
My feathers get ruffled and I want to get back to our not perfect, but comfortable status that I have been enjoying. Today was that day where I set out to get the Halloween chaos out and ORDER back into our home. I was deteremined to get every room back into it's preferred company-ready status. Even getting to every last dish in the kitchen.
That's when it happened. I was getting stuff done and then I wondered to myself if I was so motivated because there was some specific need to get my house company-ready. Was there going to be something tragic occur that would bring people into our home to visit and console? Was I being motivated for a reason?
That might seem like quite an absurd assumption, but, trust me, it didn't just come from out of the blue. It has happened before and today I realized that I have been harboring that "concern" for quite some time. And, what's more, I had no idea I was harboring any such concern. Let me explain, when I was fourteen my parents went on vacation with some friends, leaving me in the care of my older brother and sister. My dad had been ill for many years, so it really wasn't a big shock when my mom called from a hospital in Spokane, Washington telling us that Dad's kidney had failed and he would be undergoing some surgery ... this had happened before. I figured he would be up there for several days, until he was strong enough to travel back home.
However, that next day I felt the need to get our home spic and span. I felt motivated to make sure everything was as it should be, floors mopped, carpets vacuumed, kitchen cleaned down to the very last dish. Remember, this home had been under the direction of my 21-year-old brother for over a week by then. I worked hard all day and things were good. I didn't even think about why I was doing it, it just felt like something I should do, so I did.
I have since realized that that was a beautiful gift from God. It was His way of helping me be prepared for what would happen. That very afternoon my Mom arrived home without my Dad. He had died that morning and she didn't want to tell us over the phone. So, she took care of everything and got on the first plane home. As soon as she walked in the door, I think I knew in my heart what had happened, it was a moment I don't think I will ever forget.
And very soon, family and friends were coming to our home, offering love and condolence, crying and remembering with us. And my Mom didn't have to worry about dirty dishes or spills on the floor.
And I never really thought much about that morning I spent cleaning every square inch of our home. Until today.
So I guess, in my own little strange, subconcious way, I have had a fear of cleaning my home until now. Let me clarify, I would clean my house, but I never seemed to want to get the ENTIRE house in shape unless I had a darn good reason already in the works (like having company over). Just having it presentable for no specific event, well, I guess I have just been equating that with tragedy.
Anyhow, I am very grateful for getting that little insight today. Perhaps being aware of this long-hidden concern will help me to overcome it and keep going strong in my domestic desires.
And Mom, if you are reading this, maybe it will explain a lot, it sure did to me! I learned how to do all of what I need to do from your example, I've known all along, ... so, thank you!