Seeing The Dirt

I once wrote about hiding my spirit in God's keeping. It seemed like the final answer to end all questions. Now I realize that it is not final, but leads to more questions.

Indeed, if I am to hide my spirit in God, then what am I hiding there? What abides in my spirit? I try to picture my spirit, and the images are full of grit. My spirit is a room in an empty house. The lighting is coming through the half closed blinds, and I can see, dimly, what the room contains. One wooden chair, no longer new, partially draped in a sheet or drop cloth. The walls are dusty and cobwebs have collected, though not yet taken over; they lurk only in the upper part of the room. A wooden floor, warped with age and use. One or two candle-shaped wall sconces that provide little light when in use. Camouflaged by shadows, a wheeled cabinet occupies one corner. I expect it to have sustained noticeable damage, not from years of small mishaps, but from a larger event. Indeed, I imagine something destructive occurred, and the table retains the trauma in a dent the size of a softball. Yet, it remains, one of the few things that does. The once creamy walls are a gallery of grime and they appear to bow inward from carrying the load of past events.

The room and the house are not entirely neglected. At times, someone comes to tidy offenses time and absence mark on this place. Two hours of opening windows, dusting corners, and sweeping floors prevent it from complete abandonment.

Is this, then, my spirit? A dirty, neglected place with glimmers of care and attention feels too real to simply be my imagination. A place given ungentle treatment and left to simply exist is poor treatment of this gift from the Almighty. My spirit needs tending, and I refuse to do it; my plans do not include remodeling, even though I see the potential beauty and grace there.

This is the thing I give into His keeping. I come to him, having lived in shame and squalor, and drag it in with me. Gradually, I realize how sullied I have become over time. I can no longer hide from myself. I surrendered that when I took my residence in Him. His shelter is more than ample, but being hidden in the heart of God took away all other hiding I could do. I must face the damage done by my slovenly ways and find some way to fix it. I can avoid the task, but not ignore it, not anymore.

I try those things I have done before, but they no longer help me. Procrastination, laziness, fretting, and rebellion lack permanency, and I still cannot ignore the task. Finally, I stop. I let it go and simply be quiet. The quiet, when I find it, gives me a new reserve to spend on actual improvement. Hesitantly, I polish the doorknob. I practice quiet and draw from it the peace to keep me motivated to better this space of mine. Slowly I dust a windowsill, wipe down a baseboard, polish a wall sconce. Then I realize that the rest brings peace, and the peace is from God. God gives my the ability, the opportunity, to provide a more immaculate environment. My home, my spirit, is slowly aligning itself to His desire. I briskly stride to the windows and tear down the decrepit blinds. Let there be light!