Hit the Dirt

I live alone in a basement apartment. It's small, but one of the benefits is it's super easy to keep clean. At least that's what I thought. I was under the assumption that it was clean. I couldn't see the dirt. The lighting in my apartment is terrible! Apparently, dropping a slice of banana on the floor will reveal EXACTLY how good your housekeeping skills are.

Everyone has a different way of cleaning. Some people are clean freaks. (Hairy banana = not me.) You know the type... you walk into their house and you're afraid to sit down or let go of your child's hand for fear they will touch something. And there's the scheduled cleaner – the one who, without fail, cleans from top to bottom at the same scheduled time. There's the cluttered, but not dirty house. There might be toys on the floor and laundry in the basket, but it's clean. There's the “hide it in a closet” and “stuff it in a drawer” cleaner. No explanation needed. And we can't forget the “why should I clean, because it's just going to get messy again” person. I think there might be a little bit of all of them in me.

I haven't heard back from my birth mother yet. My letter has gone unanswered. I thought I would be hurt, disappointed, but I'm not. I find myself trying to see it from her point of view – her perspective. It's an odd feeling. I was so angry with her at one point and now that I've forgiven her, I often find myself feeling sad. Not sad for me, but sad for her. How painful it must have been for her. So young, feeling like she had no choices. I can't imagine. But wait... I can imagine. I do know what it feels like. I know the torment of feeling like you have no choices, like you're stuck in an awful situation with no one to depend on, no choice but the hard choice.

I can say, without question, if I had sent her the letter three years ago and not gotten a reply, that I would not have handled it the same as today. I would have been devastated, disappointed beyond consoling. But I also know that no one would have known how hurt I was. I would have kept those feelings all to myself. I would have swept that mess under the rug where no one could see it.

Life is messy. I think sometimes we clean up our emotional lives like we clean everything else in our lives. At least I do. Maybe it's just because life has taken me through enough messes that I feel like Mrs. Doubtfire. But I think it all has to do with your perspective. Everyone is going to see it from a different point of view; it just depends on the mess and what seat you're sitting it.

A few years ago, a very dear friend asked my opinion, from an adoptee's point of view, why I felt the need to find my birth parents. She asked because she's a mom of adopted children and she wondered how her kids would feel not knowing who their birth parents are. I sit here now and wonder how much my answer hurt her. I was honest with her, but I could only give her the answer from my perspective at the time. I'm sure she could have asked ten different adoptees and probably would have gotten ten different answers. God has a way of helping each of us in His own way, in His own time. Each mess requires different tools. And let's face it... there are times in our lives when we are either not willing or just not able to handle some tools. There have been times in my life when I know I was not ready for a steam cleaner, so God handed me a sponge and bucket. He only gave me what I could handle. I cleaned it up as best I could, with the tools I could handle at the time.

Rather than pray for God to clean up my messes, my prayer turned to “God, please give me the tools I need, show me how to use them.” What happened next was forgiveness. What I failed to recognize before was I needed His guidance, His instruction. I was useless on my own. I was living in the muck, with all the capability to clean it up correctly, but didn't have the right instructions. I could fake my way through, but most of it was getting thrown in a closet and hidden in a drawer. It was like the KoolAid your kids wiped up with a dishtowel. No one knew they did it until you walked across the floor and your socks stuck to it.

It will continue to be my constant prayer. With each mess, comes new tools. And it's no surprise that some tools get pushed to the back of the closet and I have to be reminded how to use them. I'm okay with that. I like my teacher.

James 3:17 But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.