I tried to navigate my way around three seven foot trees and a giant python in my living room. I had almost made it to my bedroom, but the giant 5 foot banana now blocked my final path. The team of creative kids I manage were busily hot gluing their fingers to fabric, and their friend's feet to my once shiny wood floor. The dogs were eating discarded pieces of PVC and wire. Another group was cutting thick cardboard, and had broken a second pair of once fine and useful scissors. Small pieces of plastic drop cloth were scattered like snowflakes about the room. Bins overflowing with fabric, foam, styrofaom pieces, PVC, and other tools of the creative spirit were toppled in the sunroom, spewing their contents like artistic vomit across my once uncluttered domain.
As I surveyed the mess, I felt an uncharitable thought. I hate clutter. I hate noise. I love peace and stillness. I like mountains that fade into the distance, not a soul in sight, endless miles of quiet. Why was I doing this?
Just then I remembered the visit of a troubled young man recently. A friend of one of our children, he told us God's voice had urged him to come see us.
"I always loved coming here when I was a child," he said, "It was a second family for me and you always were kind. It meant a lot to me."
Honestly, all I remember of him and my son was shooing them out of the way. I have vague memories of their disappearing to fly rockets that crashed, or foraging for food and then huddling again around board games in the blessedly pre-computer mania days. I don't recall being much of a source of support or "second family" to this kid.
However, in those tumultuous days of becoming an adult, he sought us out, with memories of kindness and love. This gave me pause as I squelched the desire to torch the giant trees, and the giant python, and especially the giant banana gracing my once immaculate (well...less cluttered) home. Who knows what point of refuge we might unknowingly be securing? Who could predict what memory of unfettered creativity and laughter might be a beacon in a dark and untraveled path in the future?
With a sigh I wove my way into the kitchen and asked if the smell of burning was any part of my house.
"No," they cheerfully responded,"Just human flesh!"
Philippians 4:7
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Absolutely! I hate clutter. I love quiet and serenity and order. But with people comes stuff. And we cannot love God apart from loving people. So God give grace to enter in to the zaniness of loving well in the midst of it all. Thank you, Vicky, for the beautiful artwork and the very real, humorous and apt words. Why are there several trees and a boa in your house?
ReplyDeletei run a destination imagination team, and with it comes a wild and crazy set.... with no place to store it but in my living room and boys' room.....
ReplyDeleteI have to love this entry because I've lived it. And those creative kids- they too will come back one day and thank you. I can guarantee it. All these years later my old team members still call and visit and express how important their DI time at our crazy house was to them. You are giving them a priceless gift, so much more important than an orderly home!
ReplyDeleteCreativity always creates clutter which explains why my house always looks like a DI project (and my office, too). Thanks for writing something that is so relatable to all of us "out of the box" folks who learn to live with the mess to allow great things to happen.
ReplyDeleteYes, indeed, the clutter is worth it all when measured in lives and memories!
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