Digging Out

 

Red alert! My bedroom is more of a disaster than usual lately.

I’d love to tell you that this place is a safe haven, Hollywood-esque, complete with matching furniture and all things beautifully arranged in picturesque simplicity. Conducive to relaxation and contemplation.

When I first had it painted a number of years ago, it more or less matched that description. Freshly ironed curtains, crisp new bedding, everything warm and pristine. But the room quickly took on other functions. Office. Writing space. A place to hold long conversations with my children. In recent years, squirmy grandchildren have nestled with me for not-so-sleepy sleepovers.

And now we’re into the Christmas season. Added to which, yours truly is beginning a new life phase at the end of January. I’ll be closing the door on my career and venturing into new horizons, some of which are as yet poorly defined. My bedroom is taking the brunt of all this activity, serving as gift wrapping station and depot for all things retirement. As I write, my desk and surrounding area are cluttered with correspondence from Social Security and insurance estimates, while the bulk of the space hosts holiday cards, winter themed paper, and good wishes for friends far and near.

Did someone say overload?

My “fairy godmother”, Anita, understands. She, too, is constantly in motion, sorting through this pile, straightening that corner, bringing a meal to this loved one, sculpting a pot for that newborn. Her house, at any given time, can be topsy turvy, too, and it’s because she’s alive and cares about the living. She’s let me in on her secret: little by little, progress is made. And sometimes – most of the time, really – disorder is a prerequisite to progress.

A present here and a present there, shuffled from upstairs to downstairs, equates to a bit more breathing room.

I miss the years when Dad handled the wrapping. Not only did he handle it, he thrived on the whole process! All I had to do was collect the stash, label with sticky notes who got what, and set him in motion. Voila! A room full of gifts was transformed into Santa’s workshop and all I had to do was commission the chief elf.

I’m also tackling ongoing projects – the type that never seem to be completely finished. One is reading/sorting through old mail. Some can go right into the recycle bin, but other correspondence is from groups I pray for and support. These missives contain valuable updates and information that are worth the effort to glean through.

Also, I’ve taken on the monumental task of scribbling on the backs of old photographs for posterity. Gang, this is important – so much more important than wrapping Christmas gifts that may end up with a ho hum reaction (not trying to be cynical, but we all know how this works). I can’t tell you how many photos I wish I’d had my parents label before they died so I’d know the identities of nameless faces staring out at me from sepia tones.

Oh, and did I mention I’m having some health problems? So a cane and medical notes are adding to the confusion.

My car, too, is behaving more like a receptacle than a vehicle. When I apologized for the mess while picking up my granddaughters from school, an understanding employee dubbed it a “Mom Mom’s car” – and it certainly is. Two car seats, a “project box” with things to do on a rainy day, and my own personal stash of necessities – Bible and notebooks, extra pair of gloves and shawl because, well, you never know –  and whatever portables I have in there at any given time (giveaways for charity, bags for the store, party goods for a grandchild’s special day, you name it).

Oy vey!

With so many items coming and going, this feels more like a storage unit than a place of repose.

Breathe.

I’ve written about Christmas craziness before – Grinch Pinch and Woe is Me… or Who is Me? come to mind – but for the reasons I’ve outlined above, this is more than the normal holiday rigamarole. I’m striving to find sanity in an insane situation, knowing these current circumstances are temporary and  believing they will grow me – if I get out of their way and let them be as they are.

My mother-in-law was a wonderful example of living sanely amid insanity. Whenever there was a messy house project going on or holiday havoc, she had this way of keeping whatever she could organized, blocking off the chaos, as it were, and keeping things arranged as tidily as possible around the madness. As a result, I can’t ever remember her losing her serenity in such situations. She never articulated her strategy, but she modeled for me how to try to stay organized when organization was elusive, and that lesson stuck… mostly.

But this is life, folks. I wouldn’t want to live like this permanently, and I don’t intend to. Hence, my efforts to dig out of the chaos, bring things in while getting other things out. Like my brother-in-law (who dubs household overload “Shack-itis”) says, if one thing comes into the house, something else better go out to keep disaster at bay.

A dear woman who was only in my life for a brief season once described her life thusly:

“I love order, but I’ve learned to function in chaos.”

This precious saint and her husband, who were not people of means, were raising their own four children as well as two born to drug-addicted relatives. These people were doing God’s work, no doubt about it, and I’m sure their house didn’t look like a page from Better Homes and Gardens.

But, oh, the love that must have permeated those four walls.

So, I guess my prayer during this season of rush and readiness is for patience while digging out, and joy in the journey.

“And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men,  knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ.”

~ Colossians 3:23-24 ~