Messes Left Undone.

I wanted to write today about how my heart is aching for my city and for all of my friends and the families affected by the shooting at Covenant, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This week has been so heavy and hard to navigate. So maybe one day I’ll have words for all of this, but today isn’t that day, but I did spend the afternoon writing about something else.

Yesterday, I cooked myself some lunch. I truthfully hate cooking. I always feel overwhelmed by it. I sometimes don’t mind the process, but the cleanup and actually making something that tastes good stresses me out.

But alas, I need to save some money, so yesterday I cooked. It actually wasn’t that bad. I had plenty of time and nowhere to be, so I felt unrushed in my process of putting a meal together.

I kept my laptop nearby, working on some writing assignments for my publisher while waiting for my chicken and veggies to cook. The chicken wasn’t perfect (overcooked because I am afraid of undercooking my chicken), but the veggies were good and there’s nothing a little ranch can’t fix. I sat eating my lunch, slowing down my heart and my brain after a tumultuous week.

Something I’ve become more and more aware of is my need for perfection and order. I need to make my bed and straighten my room every morning before I go to work. I need to clean up the kitchen as soon as I cook because I hate having dishes everywhere. I need to take advantage of every single minute of each day or it’s been wasted.

Or so I think. I’ve recently found myself thinking, “What is the worst that could happen if everything isn’t always in perfect order?”

On my way back from Italy, I flew into Paris for a connecting flight. I boarded our next plane and as we were about to take off we were told that it would be delayed for a little bit due to the Paris strikes. A little bit turned into 3 hours of waiting on the plane to take off to then have a 9-hour flight. We then missed our next connecting flight.

6 months ago, that would have sent me into a panic. I would have been so upset and annoyed and complained. Believe me, it wasn’t fun. But I thought about what would change by panicking and complaining.

Nothing. Nothing would be different. This was my reality. I was still going to get home, although maybe a little later than anticipated. I wasn’t going to miss a thing.

So, I laid back, watched a movie, and waited patiently. And my mental state really thanked me for it.

I like to let every little thing deter me, but this year has shown me that whether I like it or not things are not going to be perfect. There are going to be big and small tragedies. There are going to be imperfections and messes and things out of my control. I’m going to want to try and bring order back to things that aren’t mine to control.

It’s a sucker-punch to my gut to have to relinquish the control I seem to think I have. It isn’t getting me far anyway. Me trying to control my life is like walking on a treadmill thinking I will reach a new destination, when in reality I haven’t left the place I was standing to begin with. My feet have been moving, and I’ve grown tired, but nothing has changed.

And I want things to change. And they are changing. God doesn’t want me to stay in the same place. He’s opening my eyes and hands and heart to new places and spaces.

So if I run out of time in the morning and leave my bed undone, I think it’ll be okay. Scrubbing the pots and pans after I finish my subpar lunch will be just fine. And if God veers a hard left when I thought I was going straight, I’ll try to hang on with a smile knowing that this life isn’t mine. I’ll take a walk outside on an unknown path over the treadmill any day of the week anyway.

xo,

msv