My new
roommate should be moving in, in about a week or so. While that’s a cause for much celebration on
the whole financial side of life, it’s been a big source of stress to me for
the past couple of weeks. Instead of
being wise and just staying in the room I’d been living in, I decided I had too
much space (and too much junk to fill that space), and I moved into the smaller
bedroom. Of course, I did this a few
months ago, which meant the larger bedroom in my apartment (which was never really
properly cleaned anyway) became a large storage area. So for the past couple of weeks I’ve been
trying to clean the disastrous mess. And
since I had no room to put things, my current bedroom (the whole rest of the
apartment, really) has become a veritable maze of boxes, bags, and general
chaotic MESS.
I finally
inched my way through most of the mess in my old room, the large room.
I was dreading the final step: the
CLOSET.
This closet is what most people
would consider small, but dude, when I moved into this apartment after having
to live in the Seminary dorms (I’m convinced those dorms are intended for
single ladies who are going into missions in foreign lands—they prepare you for
ANYTHING) for a year and a half (not to mention the college dorms I’d lived in
earlier), that closet might as well have been a portal to Narnia.
It’s only a walk-in closet in a technical
sense, but it’s the biggest closet I’d ever really had.
And in the six years that I had access to
that closet, I trashed it.
This is what
I do when I have too much space (and too much junk to fill that space).
I trash it.
Hence my desire for smaller space and less stuff.
Well, I
finally made my way to the closet. I
basically took a trash bag (or seven) and tossed most of the memorabilia I’d
been saving for God only knows what reason.
I’m not sure why I thought I was going to treasure that ticket stub to
Harry Potter 4 forever and ever, but now that thing is in the dumpster where it
belongs—along with a lot of other junk I have no idea why I was keeping.
I got to the
bottom of the mess and finally only had a few stray items lingering on the
floor. I saw a journal and figured it
was either full of emo drivel from college, or it was one with clean pages I
had not yet tainted with my current emo drivel.
But when I
opened it, I had to laugh—not in that “oh my gosh look how emo my drivel was”
sort of way, but in a pleasant sort of way.
It was a “journal” I’d written before and during my two-week mission
trip to Thailand back in the summer of 2007.
I know I’ve grown a LOT since then (not physically—I’ve actually shrunk
physically. My pants from back then
would almost fit two of the current me), but it’s interesting how the things I
was learning then are things that encourage me now.
I’ve been so
stressed out this week. It’s not just
been the CHAOS of trying to find room for things that I deem more important
than old movie ticket stubs. It’s been
everything. I’ve been cranky at work—at
ALL my jobs. I told one of my
co-workers, “I JUST WANT A REAL JOB!” And the way I said it reeked of
hopelessness…and just general whininess.
I don’t have
health insurance. I should be thankful
I’m healthy (the phlebotomists from my friendly neighborhood American Red Cross
keep taking my blood, so apparently there aren’t any red flags popping up in
their system—so I take that to mean I’m not dying of anything…besides life,
which eventually kills us all—and in a blog full of unnecessary and rambling
parenthetical statements, this is probably the most unnecessary and rambling of
them all). I don’t have a nine-to-five
job with predictable hours. I should be
thankful I’m able to have and keep multiple jobs that I like—in an economy
where a lot of people are out of work altogether. I don’t have a rich husband. I should be thankful I’m able to make a
peanut butter sandwich for dinner and not have to worry about feeding my rich
husband his fancy-schmancy rich people food.
Okay, so if I had a rich husband, I’d hire a cook to make us
fancy-schmancy rich people food, but I digress.
The thing
is, while reading that old journal, I came across some really encouraging,
really true stuff. I reminded myself 1) of
God’s faithfulness, 2) that I don’t have
anything to prove to anyone, 3) that it
doesn’t matter if I fail; God will not fail.
And as I was
reading it, a playlist was playing on my borrowed, obsolete laptop (which,
incidentally, I’m grateful to have at my disposal). I had forgotten it was on, since I was so
engrossed in the things I’d written in that journal. But the words of one particular song seemed
to get louder, demanding my attention:
And if you
are wondering if I’m around,
I have never
left your side.
You are
never by yourself.
No you are
not alone tonight.
So, now
don’t you let your heart be troubled.
The peace I
bring to you is not of this world.
I set your
mind at ease.
I quiet down
your soul.
I give you
peace.
Don’t let
your heart be troubled.
(from “Don’t
Let Your Heart Be Troubled” by Mitch McVicker)
I’ve been so
overwhelmed by fears of the future. And
by that I mean both big and small things.
Like, I’m afraid of dealing with simple things like getting rid of the
excessive furniture in my apartment (the new roommate has nicer stuff). I don’t even have a working camera so I can
put pictures up on Craigslist. But I’ve
arranged to borrow a camera. If need be,
I can suck it up and get a storage unit for a while until I figure things out. Basically—I need to chill out about the small
things and remember my new mantra: IT IS WHAT IT IS.
For the
bigger things, well, hmm. The former me
preached a small sermon to the current me through the pages of that old
journal. I was talking about all the
talents God’s given me and all the things people have tried to get me to pursue
with those talents. And I wrote
something about how all of my talents can be used to entertain and teach children,
and how awesome of an opportunity it is to get to help shape their little
hearts and minds. And I wrote about how
my having a real job would just be a crime, because after all, I’m a free
(indeed) spirit.
I have no
idea what the future will bring. This
year has brought so much change, and it’s going to bring more. And you know what, next year will bring a lot
of change, too, because change happens constantly. I don’t like change. I like to hold on to things like ticket stubs
or whatever because I don’t like moving forward. But sometimes you just have to get in that
closet and dig through the junk of the past—and just accept that life isn’t
what it used to be. It is what it
is. And sometimes the things that really
matter from the past will sneak up on you when you least expect it and remind
you of the things that are important.
My little
(sort-of) walk-in closet (AKA currently inactive Narnia portal) became
something I didn’t expect tonight. In
the midst of the chaos I was dreading, I found some unexpected peace. And my closet became a prayer closet as I
allowed the presence of God to calm me, to remind me that I’m His.
