And then last Wednesday I headed uptown to get coffee with her for a visit and I got a text: “Come see my house! I’m only a block away from The Sunflower...and you can see my room!” It almost sounded like it would be a monumental moment, one I shouldn’t pass up.
But I’ve seen messy rooms.
I have mentored many high school girls over the years and somewhere between a winsome sense of humor, those deep theological questions and the unique personalities, there is an upturned, clothes-everywhere, unkempt room. My eyes would dart around as if trying to solve a murder mystery, looking for that missing candlestick to piece together the last of the clues.
Typically, I am in awe. But not in a positive way.
Julia’s room was a sight. I was being baited as she walked me through her cute, classic Elizabeth-area house. The porch swing, the tattered bookshelves, the rustic art and comfy couches. This was a cute, post-college house and I liked the feel of it. One by one, as if building up momentum, Julia showed me the sitting area, the kitchen and each bedroom, saving her’s for last. To be sure, this would be the grand finale.
As if this unveiling were happening in slow motion, she opened the door and I peered in. A 10 second, hour-long pause had me stuck in a glazed over state of shock. What could my first word possibly be? I am rarely speechless, but I was speechless indeed.
Like splashes of color everywhere, her clothes were strewn about disordered. There was little floor to see and even less in her bathroom. My jaw dropped and I couldn’t tell if I needed to run, immediately start cleaning, or just sit and take it in as if I was witnessing one of the 7 Wonders of the World. Tucked away within the explosion of stuff were books, sentimental markers from her life, and rather impressive attempts at decorating that were somewhat lost behind the swirl of everything scattered everywhere.
Though I can’t be in an environment like that for more than 8 minutes, this is an endearing side of Julia. She opened the door like she was giving me a long-awaited gift. Her smile was ear to ear as she stepped back and watched me stop dead in my tracks. And as I reflect, this seemingly insignificant moment speaks much about life. To know someone and truly love them, seems only authentically possible when we see the mess. Maybe she would fully believe she is loved if she is loved in her mess. Seems right.
Later I told her I just can’t help but want to clean it and go crazy organizing it. Her response was that the best way to help her is to sit on her bed and talk to her while she does the daunting, one shirt at a time, one shoe at a time task. To just keep her company... "that is the best way for me to clean it up.”
It’s just what we want, just what we need. This is the design of true friendship, to sit in the thrown-about, tossed-everywhere chaos, to not fear it or hate it, but to help someone put things back in order. As I consider it more, it’s just what Jesus does...as I sit, He cleans the disorder I have wrecked across the pages of my life and the lives of those around me. One misplaced motive, one selfish act, one prideful response at a time...He cleans me up.
After the initial consternation wore off, I asked Julia a simple question as I projected myself into her circumstance, “Don’t you feel like if you cleaned this room up really well, and it was organized that your stress would lessen a bit?”
“It’s strange actually, when I do clean it, I feel really uncomfortable for a few days. I feel better when it’s messy.”
There’s something profound hidden in her casual response. She seems to say far more about life than just about her tornado-twisted room. We are comfortable and settled in our patterns, those habits and ways of relating, those systems and mis-matched building blocks we have stacked up completely wrong. To clean up the room is uncomfortable. To order our disorder feels like it alters what we have controlled for so long. Paul speaks of it as the “sin that so easily entangles us.” I guess we can live like the man in the tombs for years surrounded by death, like being in prison for so long that freedom feels a bit awkward and strange.
A messy room, can start to feel a bit too much like a cozy, comfortable chair instead of chaos and confusion. Someone needs to help us clean it all up and set it all right. Someone needs to close the drawers, fold the clothes and make up the bed with all the pillows stacked straight.
