my mess, my business.

I once read a funny meme that said, "I get more cleaning done in the 10 minutes before someone comes over than I do in a week." Isn't it true? My kids know. Before we have company, the house is frantically cleaned, and all items that don't offer a semblance of order are hastily thrown in any closet or back room I can safely keep from an unsuspecting guest's eyes: my mess, my business.

 My kids always complain, Mom, why does it matter?! Guests don't care that the dolls are all over the floor or the Legos are taking over the dining room table… I explain to them that I care. I explain that when you welcome someone into your home, you should always make them feel that they were expected and prepared for—not an intruder into someone's private circus. 

“My mess, my business” became my mantra for anyone I encountered—including God. When I'd pray, I'd do so in a way where I was inviting a guest into my home rather than my Savior, who already dwelt within me. Over time, He moved with me from room to room in my interior castle as I carried heavy loads that caused me anxiety and strain. I'd march past Him to throw heaps of stuff as far into the back room as I could and smile with an "everything is fine!" smile. When the back room had reached capacity, I started filling another room. 

When my entryway was clean, my main living areas were spotless, and the kitchen tidy, albeit cluttered, I would invite Jesus to sit with me in these rooms. In these spaces, I felt comfortable and in control. Preparing a clean area for Him was important because I wanted Him to know how much I loved Him and how thankful I was for His presence. He was too precious a gift for me to share my cluttered back rooms with Him.

And then, one day, the terrible happened. Everything was neat and clean, and I was such a good hostess when one of the doors to the back room gave way, and everything came crashing to the ground. I frantically tried to push it all back, but it was as fruitless as trying to stop an ocean's tide from pushing forward. 

I fell to my knees with embarrassment. All around me lay decades of stuff that I had pushed away to invite Jesus into my life and home like the good hostess that I was.

Laying in a crumpled mess on the ground were bad decisions, broken friendships, marital trouble, self-hatred, and depression. This was all mixed in with every one of my vices — just lying there naked for Him to see. All the moments I screamed at my kids, screamed at my husband, screamed at myself, screamed at God…. They were all there, too. I couldn't deny any of it. I couldn't hide from any of it. I had to pick it all up, one by one.

I stayed on the ground for some time with my hands covering my face in embarrassment. I wouldn't take them down until Jesus had let Himself out the front door. When I was fairly certain He had left, I mustered my strength and stood in my mess. Right at my feet was a puddle of a particularly terrible memory that always left me feeling empty. I was sitting on the bathroom floor in my parent's home, eating a piece of pizza. I had just had a baby and was suffering a raging bout of depression. My husband, a private in the Army, had just been sent to Korea for 15 months. I was alone, ashamed of being a college dropout, embarrassed by being such a young mom, trying to navigate a post-pregnancy body, and desperately ached for my husband to come home.

I cried and ate my pizza alone. In the bathroom. On the floor. 

Frustrated with myself, I crouched down to pick her up—younger-sad-sitting-on-the-floor-pizza-eating-Kelly. I couldn't wait to throw her back in the closet where she belonged. But when I looked closely, I saw someone patiently sitting on the outside of the bathroom door. He stood up and looked at me. Then He reached down and lifted my young self into His arms. He held her in front of me to look at. She had mascara running down her cheek and pizza sauce in the corners of her mouth. She looked pathetic. I was mortified. But Jesus just looked at me, smiled, and said she is beautiful.

He kept her standing before me and invited me to see her the way He did. Younger-sad-sitting-on-the-floor-pizza-eating-Kelly was beautiful to Him. I struggled to remember why I had hidden her from Him for so long. And, as I looked around at the mess at my feet, I realized that Jesus was present in every memory. I didn't see Him at the time, but He was indeed there… None of it felt like dirty little secrets anymore, just a past we shared.

That day, I realized that it is Jesus, Man, and Savior who sits on the other side of the bathroom door, waiting for us while we eat pizza and cry. It is Him who reaches down and picks up our broken pieces for as long as we have pieces to pick up, and Him who loves us even when we struggle to love ourselves. It is Him who heals our broken hearts, Him who binds up our wounds, and Him who rolls up His sleeves and helps us clean our mess.

Growing in relationship with Jesus cannot be done with “everything is fine smiles.” We must bring Him into those back rooms of our hearts and, with humility, ask Him to help us sort through the mess. He doesn't ask us to re-organize it or pack it better; He doesn't hold it before us for our embarrassment. He simply gives us a hug and takes it with Him.

An important question here is how; how does He care for us so intimately? How does He help us sort through our mess?

He does this in many interconnected, perfect ways—but the one way I'd like to point out today, my friends, is that He cares for us on our most difficult days through the hands, feet, and hearts of one another.  

While reawakening a culture of life means fighting hard for the protection of the unborn, it also means that we must be like the Good Samaritan ready to care for the victim in the street—the mom sitting in the car line who is one breath away from sobs; the father sitting in the pew behind us who feels unworthy to stand before Christ, the young woman standing in the grocery store line who, while surrounded by people, has never felt more alone. My brothers and sisters in Christ, we are entrusted to one another. Sometimes, we are on the bathroom floor eating pizza through tears, but sometimes, we are the instrument by which He has chosen to pick someone up. Give yourself over to His love and care well for one another.  

My friends, download this week’s Pray, Grow & Serve. Talk with your kiddos about how important it is to truly care for one another.