Plague of Dust

As I mentioned in a recent post (Under Construction), my landlord at home has started a little construction project in our basement/garage area that has turned into a much bigger ordeal than he imagined. As a result, both of our dwellings have been inundated with what I am now affectionately referring to as "the plague of dust." His initial communication to me that it would be "a little messy" in the garage for "a couple of days" has turned out to be the understatement of the year (I would say century, but I'm trying to curb my dramatic tendencies).

There is dust on the walls, on the upholstery of the furniture, in the cedar closet, under the bathroom sink, on oven burners...you get the picture - it's on pretty much every square inch of the living space. And when you get to the section of the garage where old golf clubs and Christmas decorations are stored, well...let's just say, my landlord has a lot of cleaning to do.

Which brings me to the thought process that this plague of dust has stirred up in my mind and heart. As I mentioned on the earlier post, it has been beyond frustrating to come home to a new layer of dust each night. I've done a couple of passes of initial dusting just so I can put my feet on the coffee table without turning my slippers into dust mops, but there's always a new layer to greet me within a day or two. I can't really communicate in writing how frustrated I have felt to have my home invaded by dust. Dust seems like such a small thing...so seemingly harmless. But like snow, when there is enough of it together, it can create a pretty big mess. And the only way for my home to ultimately be restored to a relatively dust-free state is for me to go through every room in the house and pick up every single thing in that room and either wipe off or vacuum off the dust.

As I've pondered this pending clean-up, I started wondering...does God feel some form of this sadness as He looks at the beauty that He created and sees all of the ways that our original beauty is marred by the dustiness of our choices to live life apart from His care and love? Is the grief Jesus feels as He longs for us to receive the cleansing water of His love almost more than He can bear? Am I willing to invite Him into the dusty mess of my life and give Him access to every room of my heart that needs His healing, transforming work?

Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress;
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.
-Rock of Ages hymn lyrics

Blessed are the meek

"O the bliss of the man who is always angry at the right time and never angry at the wrong time, who has every instinct, and impulse, and passion under control because he himself is God-controlled, who has the humility to realize his own ignorance and his own weakness, for such a man is a king among men!" --William Barclay's rendering of the third Beatitude

"The man who is truly meek is the one who is truly amazed that God and man can think of him as well as they do and treat him as well as they do." --Dr. Martyn Lloyd Jones

We studied the Beatitudes at the end of 2009 in the Sunday School class I have attended at church, and the person leading us through this section of Matthew's gospel brought these quotes as part of his teaching. Even though I have read the Beatitudes many times throughout my life, I have to admit that I haven't really spent much time reflecting on them. Which is unbelievable, given that they are some of the first words spoken by Jesus as He began His public teaching.

This week I was reminded of this Beatitude as I became indignant in a couple of situations where I felt I wasn't being properly heard or cared for. I argued in my mind that surely I deserved better treatment than this (being ignored in both situations). And as I was coming off of my high horse, I landed with a thud back in the familiar territory of self-protection and a critical spirit concerning the people involved.

As I reasoned with myself that I was totally justified in my attitude, these quotes rose to the surface of my heart. Planted there a couple of months earlier, they reminded me that I was angry about the wrong thing. I wasn't angry because someone else was being injured or because God's name was being dragged through the mud, I was angry that I didn't get what I felt I deserved.

In a culture that worships self-protection and personal rights, it doesn't come naturally to let go of them and choose humility and meekness. But as long as I cling to my own rights, my hands and heart are not free to love and give life to others. So today I am praying for the grace to let go...to embrace meekness...to get back on the path of love.

Under Construction

Be careful what you pray for. Of course I've heard that warning before in reference to praying for patience. Praying to learn how to love seems so much kinder and gentler, wouldn't you think? Not so much.

Coinciding with my new year's prayer that God would teach me to love, my landlord "coincidentally" started a little renovation project in an unfinished room in the basement. In his usual casual way, the day before the crew was to arrive, he mentioned to me in passing that some construction guys would be hauling out some dirt from that room through my garage for a couple of days and then by the end of the week they would be pouring concrete and turning that unfinished room into a finished storage area. No problem, I say.

I shouldn't be surprised that we are three weeks into this little one-week project with no end in sight, and it's really not even the length of time that has brought me to the point of house rage (the construction-site equivalent of road rage). First there were the fumes that I'm sure someday they will find were filled with toxic substances unfit for anyone to be breathing, let alone living in. Next was the jack hammer. Oh yes. Jack hammer. Evidently they ran into rock that needed hammered away. Lovely. (Did I mention that I now office at home three days each week?!!) But the thing that has thrown me into my fuming frenzy is actually a small thing. Dust. Layers and layers of dust. I have no idea how all that dust made its way onto every exposed space in my house. I closed the heating vents and covered them with towels, hoping to stop the madness. No such luck. Evidently dust can pretty much go wherever it darn well wants to go, even without an open door.

So here I am, asking God to teach me how to love, praying for Him to open my eyes to the world of the poor and oppressed, and getting all bent out of shape with my landlord because his little construction project is getting on my last nerve. Nice.

My mind goes to Haiti where thousands of people would give anything to have a house still standing, clean drinking water, a bed with a mattress, access to transportation, or even a house filled with dust.

My heart is ravenous. I want so much. And it's not the wanting that's really the problem. It's my demand to have it my way. My demand that things stay in order, neat and tidy, under control.

God is messing up my world right now in more ways than some visiting dust mites. Which I know is my own fault. I asked Him to help me to learn how to love.