I have spent the last year peeling back the layers of my onion, also known as recovery. I don't know anyone who enjoys peeling onions. None of my friends have ever said I'm looking forward to going home and peeling an onion. I think on my day off, I'll spend the day peeling an onion. No. I have to peel an onion if I want to make dinner. The process of peeling an onion is ugly, because your hands seem to absorb the juices getting on everything you touch and you cry. You can't help the tears. It burns. So I took my onion outside and hucked it against a cement wall. I don't need a stinking onion in my soup.
Now I'm going to clean house. Big difference? Not! Have you ever noticed when you decide to do some deep cleaning, the house gets messier, before it gets cleaner? You start piles, stuff to give away, stuff to give back to the rightful owner, and stuff to throw away. The give away pile is pretty easy. Clothes you've outgrown, things you don't use, and things you know other people need more than you. We wrap this stuff in forgiveness. I have outgrown this old coat of anger so I'm going to give it away. Wrap up a little of this bitterness in a thick layer of forgiveness and throw it away. This old sadness, well, it doesn't even belong to me.
I've found things I forgot I had. Some of it, I didn't want to find and other things make me feel a little less crazy. I had stopped writing years ago, but I found it has a healing affect on me and I'm glad I found it again. I've also found buried under the bed a few memories that I'm not sure that I'm happy to have found. Though if I ignore them under there, they aren't going to clean themselves. I dig them out, clean the dust off and sit back against the bed and look at them. Cleaning sucks.
I think housework is the reason most women go to the office. ~Heloise Cruse
Then in the middle of cleaning I took a break and walked out to the mailbox. I got a letter from the head of the local Home Tours Association. They want to put my house on the tour. Why? My house is nothing special. My house is dirty. Why would anyone want to look at it? Compared to the neighbors house, mine is simple and not very exciting. The letter states that it's a requirement for living amongst this group of people. My house has to be available to be toured and shared.
They will send out the local inspector/interior decorator. Well, that's fine, I'm ready. Then I remember that closet, I better get to it. When I open the door a pile of stuff rolls out on the floor in front of me. It's too much. I stuff it all back in and slam the door shut on it. Who will be looking in the closet anyway? That's my stuff and it's nobody's business.
The doorbell rings. I swing open the door to see a tall smirking man, Mr. David. "Hey, how are you? I have to say from the get go, I am here to help. You can tell me to go at any time. I just want to see you be the best you can be."
"I'm ready."
He steps in the door and takes a look around, "Wow, you've come a long way in a year." I'm embarrassed that it took a whole year to make this much progress, but Mr. David points out all that I've done, painting, steam cleaning, and even a little remodeling. "Now all you have to do is rearrange some of this furniture, throw some of it out and get to those closets."
"Closets? Who said anything about closets?"
"This isn't a pick and choose thing. Everything has to be looked at and cleaned."
"I'm not doing the closets. I refuse."
"It's not so bad once you get started and I've been sent by the Man at the top to help you. You can do it now or you can do it later, but it has to be done."
"You and the Man can get out of my house then." I throw him out and slam the door behind him. Then I remember the swatches and I throw them out to. I don't even want to remember he was ever here. I watch him through the window on the back door. Mr. David finds an old lawn chair leaned against the garage wall, dusts it off, and sits in it to wait, but I know I am not letting him back in. He can wait out there forever. He's just too willing to look at the ugly stuff in my closet. There must be something wrong with him. Occasionally, I walk over to the back door and peek out the window. He's sitting there patiently waiting. When I turn around to go back to what I was doing, ignoring him, there is a Man standing in my kitchen. I recognize Him right away. He is The Man. I can't look Him in the eye, because I know what He wants. I push past Him and go about my business, but He follows me from room to room, not saying a word, because He knows that I know. Finally, annoyed by His presence and unable to ignore Him any longer, I scream, "You get out, too. I don't want to be on this stupid tour, I don't need your man, Mr. David and I don't need you."
He stands there looking at me for a second and I see a tear form in His eye as He turns to leave. "I only want the best for you."
"It's ugly."
"I knew that before I asked you to look at it. I know everything in those closets and I still want you with Me on this. But if you want Me to go, I will be waiting outside with Mr. David and we will be praying for you."
"It's too much work."
"Okay."
As He nears the door, I give in, "Okay. I'll clean the stupid closets already!"
Mr. David and I stand together looking at the closed door. He rubs his hands together, "Let's get to it."
"That's easy for you to say. It's not your closet."
"Why are you so angry with me? Is it because I've already cleaned my closet? Let me tell you something, The Man gave me this job I didn't choose it. He sent me to you, because our "stuff" is similar. I know how to attack this "stuff" because I have done it in my own closet and I still deal with some of it. Open the door. We can't clean this stuff up until you open the door."
"Okay. I just don't want to, because there is a mirror hanging on the inside."
"That will help, though you probably want to grab a bottle of glass cleaner."
I swing open the door to let him look inside. Stuff rolls out around our feet. "There. What do you see?"
"Wow, some of this stuff has been used recently. Look at all that judgement. You've been to the neighbor's house, haven't you?"
"I was just looking for some tips on how to clean."
"Yeah right. Okay, well instead you took some of this judgement over there, used it and are now harboring it here in this closet."
"She is ignoring her closet and it's giving the community a bad name. The people touring will see it. They will be turned off to us. Why do I have to clean my mess and nobody is even pointing out hers?"
"The Man will take care of her. She is not your concern, especially when all this stuff is rolling out of your closet."
"Her closet is full of judgement, manipulation, and lies."
"Are you sure we won't find some of that in here?"
"Okay, okay, I get it. When we get through here, I want it to look like the lady down the street. Her house is so clean and neat. She seems so happy."
"You know the big chest of drawers she has in her kitchen?"
"Yes, it's beautiful."
"Behind it is a closet door she has almost forgotten about. She has kept it hidden there for many years. In her mind, it's clean, but in her heart she knows there are things in there that scare the life out of her. You don't know what really happens in another's house, behind their closed doors."
"Okay. You're right. I didn't know that."
"Let's get started. Here's the plan, I'm going in there and I'm throwing out everything we need to look at, but then you have to be the one to look at each item, identify it and decided what you're going to do with it. I can help, but I can't make the final decision."
In a very angry tone, I say, "Fine."
The first thing he throws out is pride. I pick it up and when he's not looking I stuff it into my pocket. Then he says, "I saw that."
"What?"
"Put it with the rest of the stuff." I refuse. I stand there and watch him, but he stops, turns around and leans against the door jam, "Really?"
"I might need this one day."
"Really?"
"You know your pockets are full of jerkness."
"Um, I seem to have found a jackpot of jerkness in this closet, so do you really want to talk about mine?"
"Some days I don't like you very much."
"Remember when I told you that The Man sent me to help you, because our closets are similar?"
"Yes."
"Sometimes you don't like me very much, because you see a reflection of you. The things you don't like about me are the things you don't like about you. Let me show you something." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of pride, It was much smaller than mine and obviously had areas torn off of it, but it was still pride. "The reason you throw me out, is because of the things you see that you don't want to face, but they are also the reasons you allow me to get on my hands and knees and dig this crappage out of your closet. You know my closet was the same, holding the same treasures, if you will." He smiles. Then he looks at the bundle of pride in his hand. I see a tear forming as he reaches over and gently sets it in the pile to be thrown out. After a few minutes of contemplation, I reach into my pocket and pull out my bundle and set it next his. We share a smile and he dives back in, while I begin to sort through the mess.
Suddenly, he cries out, "Hey, look what I found. Here's your humility." He turns around and tosses it to me. "That's something to keep. You'll need it in the future, when you're on your hands and knees helping somebody dig through their closet."
Housework, if it is done right, can kill you. ~John Skow
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