So I got on a bit of a cleaning jag last weekend.
This happens about as often as a lunar eclipse, so I’ve learned that when it hits, I gotta jump on it and ride it all the way in.
Brad and I agree that since we both work, we should both be responsible for home stuff as well. I hate doing floors and Brad hates doing laundry. So we made a deal early on that if he handled the floors, I would do our laundry for the rest of our lives.
But there’s other stuff. Stuff that just gets neglected in the midst of all of life’s busyness. So one of my New Years goals for 2016 is to deep clean one room each weekend.
(As you know, January was pretty much a wash for me. Between throwing my back out, two speaking engagements and a family tragedy, my New Year didn’t really start till February. I had never been so thankful to flip my calendar.)
Since last weekend was truly the first weekend this goal was even possible, I jumped in with both feet.
I cleaned our bedroom on Saturday and I woke up Sunday still energized, so I moved out into our office area and sitting room (breaking for church and a nap). In order to get to the surfaces to dust them, the stacks of papers and just … stuff had to be moved. So I started piling it all on the couch to go through later.
That ‘later’ came around dinnertime Sunday night. I got to the point where I couldn’t clean any more until I cleaned OUT and organized the gazillions of books and papers and pieces of miscellaneous-ness strewn about our living area. Gyah. It was insane.
A forest’s worth of papers here and there and everywhere. Caroline’s brilliant shared artwork, two year’s worth of the kids’ extra school pictures, notes from talks I had given, report cards and progress reports, Christmas card envelopes with addresses to be updated in my contact list, letters and flyers from school, and on and on and on.
But the books, y’all. The books. The books, books, books, books.
I have an addictive personality and thankfully that weakness has translated into relatively harmless things like T-shirts, Diet Coke (okay, not so harmless) and books.
I took all the books off the bookshelf in the sitting room, added them to the other random stacks and categorized them by subject. In order to get them all back on the shelf, other things had to be removed. I had a couple portable file boxes and an entire shelf of Bible study books taking up valuable real estate, so they all had to be relocated too.
I managed to get all the books on the shelf and was so proud of it. But the sense of accomplishment was short lived.
I turned around and stared at the pile of Bible study workbooks and notebooks and immediately felt deflated. I had no idea where they were going to go.
I had saved them all, just for reference material when preparing talks and Sunday School lessons. There were two spiral notebooks that go all the way back to high school, notes from camp speakers, etc. Five or six binders of BSF notes. No less than 30 Beth Moore workbooks (with several duplicates). And a number of others by Jennie Allen, Jen Hatmaker, Margaret Feinberg, Perry Noble, Priscilla Shirer, etc. Not to mention all the booklets and notebooks from all the conferences I had attended over the years.
I stared at the mountain of knowledge in front of me, representing hours of study and learning and scouring of scripture. And a wave of discouragement crashed over me.
My poor, unsuspecting husband chose that moment to come upstairs and check on me. He appeared at the top of the stairs and looked around with a smile. “Wow, babe. It looks amazing up here. Look at all your books on the shelves! They look great!”
Then he looked at me on the floor staring hopelessly at the pile of notebooks and his smile faded. “What’s wrong?” he asked with concern. “No place to put those?”
I let out a deep sigh. “Just look at all this.” I gestured at the pile, grabbing handfuls and showing him as I talked. “Bible studies … Conference notes … Look! These are from high school! … And college! …” I trailed off.
I could see his mind furiously trying to figure out where I was going with this, in hopes to get there first and have the perfect answer ready. “Yeah … That’s a lot of stuff.”
“Bible study after Bible study. Conferences. Sermons. All this learning.” I looked up at him and snapped, “There is no reason I shouldn’t have my shit together by now.”
Brad has never been a fan of silence. As an outward processor, he’s always got plenty to say, usually figuring it out as he goes. But this time, he just waited.
“I’m still such a disaster,” I continued sadly. “I mean, I’m a basket case. All this has gotten me nowhere. This is literally half of my life spent trying to make some progress toward … SOMEthing. And I STILL don’t have my shit together.” I dropped my head in defeat.
It was Sunday night (always a bad time for me), I was exhausted and tears were threatening. Brad was in a precarious position and had to tread lightly. Trying to solve the problem could elicit either anger or deeper depression. So he decided to play it safe.
“Well,” he began with a tiny smile, “think about how much worse things would be if you HADN’T done all that.”
I know he was trying to lighten the mood and was probably hoping for a giggle, but I took him at his word. I sighed returned my gaze to the pile. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”
He left to go take Beau and some friends to the movies and I continued to ponder the worth of all my seemingly fruitless study.
I began to flip through a couple of the books. My handwriting hadn’t changed in 20 years and I got a chuckle at that. I watched my responses and notes evolve from decisively black and white back when life was simple to gray and nuanced as life grew more complicated.
And then it occurred to me: Maybe in God’s upside-down kingdom, growth can work backward just like everything else.
Jesus often spoke of those who possess the least on earth would gain the most in heaven (Matthew 19). If you wanted to be the greatest in the kingdom, you had to become like a child (Luke 9).
The King came to serve, not to reign. And served the hopeless, not the ‘holy.’ Instead of a coronation, there was a crucifixion. Instead of a crown, there was a cross.
And many of those who got the closest to God didn’t confidently stroll up to Him and start chatting. They fell on their faces. They feared for their lives. They begged Him to go away from them because they were not worthy. (That’s why God’s opening pick-up line is so often, “Do not be afraid.”)
In my younger days, I was pretty sure of myself and my faith. I knew all the answers and thought it all made sense. But as life happened and continues to happen, instead of feeling more and more confident of my grasp of God and His word, I feel like I know less than I ever have.
God has gotten bigger, wilder, more unpredictable and terrifyingly beautiful. I’ve gotten smaller, more needy, increasingly helpless and more in love with Him than I ever was when I had it ‘all figured out.’ As John the Baptist so wisely taught, “He must become greater; I must become less.” Yeah, we’re definitely there.
The Pharisees had more knowledge than they knew what to do with. They knew the law, they knew the prophecies. But somehow, they still missed Jesus. Paul told the Corinthian church, “We know that ‘we all possess knowledge.’ But knowledge puffs up while love builds up. Those who think they know something do not yet know as they ought to know. But whoever loves God is known by God” (8:1-3).
I distinctly remember a time when I was prideful and puffed up with knowledge. I felt like a really good Christian, but I had yet to be broken. It’s harder to offer God’s grace to someone who’s blown it when you’ve never really needed that grace yourself.
Maybe progress in the kingdom isn’t about knowing more, but about loving more. Maybe it’s not learning ABOUT Jesus, but learning FROM Jesus.
I pondered this as I lovingly stacked my precious study materials next to my bookshelf. I am quicker to offer grace than I used to be. Having lived longer and sinned more (and bigger) I have experienced God’s mighty love and forgiveness firsthand and now speak of it not just in theory, but from an eternally grateful heart. I am more willing to boast of my weakness, because in my weakness, He is strong.
Brad returned a while later and tossed me a package of Reese’s peanut butter cups.
“I hate you,” I informed him.
“I know,” he grinned. “But they’re SO GOOD.” (Food is my love language. He gets me.) He turned and went back downstairs, certain he made it all better. And he kind of did.
It stopped me long enough to hear, Relax, My child. Just sit here with Me, in My love, and have a peanut butter cup. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was been holding.
I have retained shockingly little from all my study time and effort. “But by the grace of God, I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without effect” 1 Corinthians 15:10.
Who I am has changed exponentially more than what I know. And regular exposure to God’s word cannot leave you unchanged.
When the angel visited Mary and told her The Plan, he closed with, “For no word from God will ever fail” Luke 1:37.
And so in all my hot-mess-ness, I will trust my King’s love and respond the way she did:
I am the Lord’s servant. May it be unto me as you have said.
