The movers knocked on our door at 7:33 Friday morning, and we were ready. Well, mostly ready. I still needed to pack up the remaining food in the refrigerator and take down the curtain rods and sweep the floors before the cleaners came – because am I the only one who doesn’t want to appear as messy as I really am? But maybe like brushing and flossing your teeth right before jumping into the cleaning chair, the dentist sees right through it. As I’m sure the cleaning ladies did as well.
Sorry, Merry Maids.
By 11 the carefully loaded goods had started to become carefully unloaded goods, and Heidi-friend met me with Pumpkin Spice Latte in hand to help out wherever and however, …because that’s just what friends do. And the funny thing is that even though I scream Let’s Be Messy! from the blogosphere mountaintops, there’s still that part of me that wants to look presentable and have all my ducks in a row and have A, B and C lined up before said messiness ensues – which completely defeats messiness’ purpose. So there she and I stood, in the middle of the chaos; she’d brought an eight-pack gift of paper towels, because she knows the HBH’s Great Love of All Things Paper (much to my eco-savvy, recycling chagrin). And with spray cleaner in hand, she wiped the year(s)-old dust clean from our bedside tables, and she grunted with me as we tried to move the leather chair from our room to Cancan’s and back again. Sometimes I’d run downstairs to help the movers with an item, and five, ten, fifteen minutes would pass before I remembered that I’d left her upstairs to fend for herself. So I’d haul up the stairs again, and we’d resume asking questions and telling stories while we dusted and cleaned and unpacked.
And while I intended to simply write, I’m tired – here, watch this Whole Foods Parking Lot rap and get down with your bad self for today’s post, even in bone-tiredness, my fingers just keeping tap, tap, tapping away at the keys.
Instead, I find myself utterly grateful.
I am grateful for friends who dive into the messiness, whose very actions remind me of the God who does the same for us and to us and with us. More often than not, I think that I need to wear my Super Special, Super Duper, I Love Jesus and I Have All My Sh&% Together clothes before I’m able to enter his Grace (let alone his house). I forget that it’s not about how much I love him – in fact, that’s not it at all – but it’s simply about how much He loves me. And this love, His love, is enough.
Instead, I am overwhelmed with peace.
I sleep soundly for the first time in months, and I see excitement oozing up from the heart of the HBH – not only is he delighted at his new digs, but he’s proud to care and provide for his family in this way. And when I lament the loss of the Coolness Factor with our new zip code, I then remind myself that my own coolness has been on a dramatic decline ever since the scales started tipping the ripe ol’ age of 30, when quoting 90’s songs and other hip parts of my youth officially labeled me OLD. Because this peace that overwhelms, this peace is worth it.
Instead, I feel the sun streaming in through the windows, warming my arms and kissing my fingers, and I think to myself, Man, this suburban life ain’t bad at all.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pour myself a cup of tea and go unpack another box.
What about you? How have you been feeling the “insteads” in a really, really good way lately? And more importantly, do you have Teen Spirit?