When I was a teen, my idea of a fun Saturday morning meant re-organizing my bedroom. I'd switch furniture around then go through drawers and my closet discarding what no longer made me happy and then straighten the rest in an orderly fashion.
Good times. It just felt so right being surrounded by order and able to find whatever I needed.
Now, I'd hear about people out there who were unable to organize their stuff to save their lives, but I couldn't believe it. In my black-and-white mind, I labeled them as The Lazies. Surely if they just tried harder they'd be better organized, right?
But then uh-oh. My head and my theories went all tilt, tilt, tilt when I married one of those unorganized people--and he wasn't even A Lazy! No, Tom would declare that today he'd get organized, then step into one of his areas and:
He'd keep everything.
He'd cram the most useful, daily items to the very back of closets or sheds or way up on unreachable shelves.
If he had matching items (wallets, key rings, etc.), he'd place a few in a bottom drawer, some in a high cupboard, some on a shelf, but never all together in one place.
He'd hide stuff under the bed or tucked into crevices simply because they fit there and were no longer on the floor.
Oh dear. The first 25 years, or so, it made me wild. Why did he complicate such a simple thing? Why did none of his so-called organizing make any sense? Why couldn't he think like me?
Was it because God gave us different strengths and weaknesses and thought it hilarious when He put us together? Probably. :)
But mostly, He matched us up so that in the areas where Tom is weak, I am strong and in my weak areas, Tom's got those brilliantly covered. We're a balanced team that way and that made us good parents for Naomi, actually, for if we'd both had only the same strengths, our house may have stayed uber organized, but all our cars would have fallen apart. Our checks for bills would have been written on time, except that no one would be out there earning the money to pay them. We'd have saved-up more money, but we'd not have had sufficient beds or tables or chairs if we were both the same slow, must-be-a-bargain hunter that I am. (And we'd have lived in all 50 states if we both had Tom's gypsy blood. heh.)
Anyway, these are my thoughts on this glorious autumnal day as I continue to dismantle Tom's room so to store much of it upstairs. I keep finding items (ones I'd never keep) in the oddest places, but now all these 35 years later I can giggle about it (and ok, roll my eyes), but not pull out my hair.
Some things in our lives require lots of acceptance because they'll just never change. The question is not what's wrong with that person who's not like me? But rather, can we still, even so, show godly compassion and patience anyway?
And of course, our homes become the perfect place to become an expert in practicing that acceptance and unconditional love, both with others and ourselves. It's so often fertile ground, indeed.
"And there are distinctive varieties of operation [of working to accomplish things], but it is the same God Who inspires energizes them all in all." ...1 Corinthians 12:6
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