Shuffling through the Clutter

I went through a phase a few weeks ago, in which I couldn't sleep in my own bed. I live alone,

quite comfortably, in a female Residence Hall at Abilene Christian University. My little

apartment is just the right size for me. However, after I returned from Spring Break, I found that

I had developed a strong aversion to my bed. I didn't want to sleep in it. I didn't even want to go

in my bedroom. I just kept the door shut for two weeks, at least, only entering to change clothes

or grab needed items.

I made camp on my couch. It's cozy; I bought it at an antique store and it didn't put any pressure on my pocketbook. It's Depression-era, and I've never seen another couch that looks quite like it.  I moved all my pillows and blankets into the living room and stayed there for nights in a row. I couldn't figure out why I felt suspicious of my bedroom, but I knew I felt more at peace with sleeping on the couch. So I decided I'd just stay as long as I needed to. 

There were moments when my domestic changes were a little embarrassing. My friend, Bryson, came over for some coffee one afternoon and I'd forgotten to hide my bed clothes in the bedroom, their proper home. I noticed him eying the couch, probably wondering who'd been sleeping there, or why I was.  My quirk was exposed. I found myself wanting to rush an explanation, to say that I'd been  napping there, that a friend had needed a place to stay, that I was changing the sheets on the bed.  Finally, I just moved the pile of blankets and pillows and said that I'd been sleeping on my couch  because I couldn't sleep in my bed, for some unknown reason. His response was simple, "That  happens to me sometimes, too. And I'm never quite sure why, either."

What a relief. And what a trivial thing to get so worked up about. I went in my room later and

looked around. And then I felt foolish, because the reason I was avoiding my room was strewn

all over the place. Piles of books sat haphazardly shoved against the wall. Clothes lay in piles all

over the floor. Emptied purses hung on door knobs. A suitcase I'd unpacked halfway from Spring

Break was in the middle of the bed. A few glasses of unfinished drinks sat in various places

around the room. In short, my room was a wreck.

I didn't want to face the mess. I couldn't be around it. I couldn't even live life the way that I

normally do because the mess stressed me out too much and I had no time to clean it up, anyway.

It isn't particularly profound, but it made me think of the way that I hide my internal messes, too.

When there is something going on deep inside of me, when I have secret sin, when I am sad,

lonely, angry, confused, jealous, hurting, experiencing negative thoughts, I shut down that part of

myself. I close the door and go sleep somewhere else. I avoid it as long as possible, because

figuring out how to fix it takes time that I don't have and energy that I'd rather spend on

something less painful. So I ignore it.

But there are always the friends who stumble upon the clues. There are always the people who

see the bed clothes that I accidentally left out in my hastiness. There are the people who notice

them, glance over at them occasionally, and usually try to be polite and either act like they didn't

notice, or ask about them in a roundabout way. But in the moments when I choose to

acknowledge the clues, too, and to be open and transparent about what they are pointing toward,

that friend almost always responds with, "That happens to me sometimes, too. And I'm never

quite sure why, either."

I eventually cleaned my room and started sleeping in my bed again last Thursday. While this is

easily the cheesiest analogy I've ever concocted, it's reflective of a simple truth. I can't let those

things, those cluttered messes inside of myself, collect dust and allow me to change who I am or

how I should live because I don't want to deal with them. I can't ignore them. And when

someone picks up on the clues that something is going on in there, I have to be open and honest.

I have to be confessional. If I don't, I'm avoiding true community with people I love and trust and

who have their eyes ultimately fixed on things above, too.

My way would be to keep the bedroom door shut and keep sleeping on the couch, because it's

easier. Psalm 119:59-61 says, "When I think on my ways, / I turn my feet to your testimonies; / I

hasten and do not delay to keep your commandments. / Though the cords of the wicked ensnare

me, / I do not forget your law." From now on when the clutter starts to build up, I'm going to

start cleaning it before it gets out of hand. In fact, I'm committing to giving it a little attention

everyday, so it doesn't gain control over my life. The Lord's ways are higher than mine, and I'll

willingly wade through the clutter if it means that I can walk peacefully in His testimonies at the

end of the day.

Father,

Teach us to open up the places within ourselves that are cluttered with things that we don't want

to see or fix or shed light on. Give us spirits of hope and perseverance, that we may come to our

senses and move beyond hiding away pains and pasts and things that we'd like to pretend never

existed. Walk with us as we wade through the clutter. Help us as we pick it up and put it in its

proper place. Help us to be disciplined and to work through the things that we need to work

through daily, instead of suppressing them and letting them build up. Thank you for being a God

who makes us clean and pure and who does not leave us to rely on our own ways and

understandings. We love you.

Amen

Erin Daugherty, Abilene Christian University