September 09, 2013
So, a few days ago I turned thirty.
I've been looking forward to this for a long time. This year has been harder than I could have imagined - a time of incredible growth and trial as well as joy and richness and blessings, and I am simply incredibly grateful.
It's been rough in pretty stupid ways, too: like, how is it that, at almost 30, I still would go weeks without making my bed? And my laundry! Clothes magically move from the clean hamper to the dirty one, without ever stepping foot in the dresser where they belong. The only reason why I cleaned the bathroom this month was because Stearns was moving in, and I was embarrassed at the state of the tub. The thing is, this sort of laziness/busyness is also incredibly draining. It's not pleasant to step into a dirty bathtub. Or to sleep in a messy room. And even ignoring those things, it's pretty damn uncomfortable to sleep on the one-third of a bed that is not piled with books and papers.
A few years ago, Myrna told me about a homily she heard one Easter-tide. The priest discussed how Jesus folded his shroud in the corner of the tomb. The priest dwelled on these folded sheets; he relished this distinctly human act of putting the world into order by taking a moment to put your own things in order. I mean, really! Jesus had just risen from the dead! Destroyed death! He was preparing to reveal his Risen self to his mourning, stunned disciples! And he had time to make his bed. Make the bed!
So, I'm thirty, and I'm pretty terrible at an awful lot of basic things. But I am going to make my bed. And as I draw up the sheets and fluff the pillows (all of what, 15 seconds), I'll turn this measured act into a simple morning prayer: Dear Lord, make me more like you.