I love being clean. I don’t just mean in the context of being drug free. I mean I love cleanliness. Neat freak, clean freak–yep, that’s me. A place for everything and everything in it’s place. Fresh haircuts, filed fingernails, clipped toenails: Yes. Vacuum lines on the carpet, Pine Sol and lemon scented Pledge, dust free, jet black electronics. Nice. Lines straight, edges smooth, slack pulled tight, taught, tense. Peace…Ha.
Clean is control and sterile is sanity but as Seal once sang, “We’re never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy.”
Enter one hard-working, dusty, shaggy-faced husband and two romping, stomping, outdoors-loving young boy-men and cleanliness and I are outnumbered. Grasping for control, it is revealed as the mirage it’s always been. Quick! Get me my antibacterial spray. Get me my hand sanitizer. Get me my dust cloth. Get me my pen and pad. Get me my safe box, weighed outcomes, and calculated risks. Quick, get me my coffin. Time to settle in and get cozy.
Striving for life we spiral toward death.
Rest, release, receive.
Die to live, a seed, covered, smothered by filth, good soil, clean dirt.
Now grow. Live.
Push up through the dirt, feel the wind, the rain, the creepy crawlies. Feel the cold, cracked earth. Slide in the mud, bake in the sun. Get pressed down by sandy Feet carrying the weight of Love.
Flower and seed and get caught up in the breeze and fly….
“In a world full of people, only some want to fly, isn’t that crazy?”
Yes. Yes, it is.
The other day God made it clear He wanted me to pray for a friend. I told Him I didn’t want to. I wanted to pray for myself. I had too much me on my mind and had no room for another. I was consumed by self, as you see, I thought I was God. I thought control was mine and I could not rest or release or receive. Not for me, not for you. The control box, the coffin, has room for one. And one is the loneliest number.
Life is dirty, Love is messy. They are unpredictable, they are risky, they are exhilarating. They are electric, they are energy, they are everything.
So go ahead, climb in your coffin. Get comfy-cozy. Die. Get rained on and wind whipped. Fade and then fly. Get picked up and carried away to God-knows where for God-knows what on the breezy breath of Love, and for God’s sake, live. LIVE ALIVE. Do it now, while there’s still time. Cry and bleed and cough and snot and rant and rave and forgive and repent. Be real, go wild, get crazy.
Everything and nothing are under control, so be like Bob and “don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be all right.”
And if it’s not, it’s not the end.
Turn the page.