Combating chaos

My wife labels.  I've tried to do an intervention, but she'll have to accept that she has a problem before she'll be willing to get help.  She has a Brother model PT-70 labeler.  It is not the Cadillac of labelers, but it's a solid mid-range sedan, maybe a Camry or an Accord.  I bought it for her with several colors of labeling tape and she was more moved than she would have been had I purchased flowers, chocolates, or diamonds (diamonds because she does the finances and would never allow me to spend that much money).  Esther once spent a summer doing a thorough inventory of the entire house, room by room, drawer by drawer, shelf by shelf.  Everything that we owned, except the stuff in my sacred Junk Drawer, made it on the inventory.  The goal was to place this inventory in clear plastic sleeves, place the sleeves in a three ring binder, and place the binder where everyone could access it.  She also ran all over the house sticking little printed labels, both square and level, on everything we own.  Using the inventory binder and the Brother PT-70 labels, every person in the house could pick up a misplaced item and find out exactly where this lost thing belongs, and hopefully return it.  It was a rock solid plan except for the fact that we never used it.

As a rather disorganized person myself, Esther's behavior has always struck me as a compulsive disorder.  She squirms in her seat at church whenever she hears a sermon about taking a Sabbath because a day with no work means a day of losing ground in the war against chaos and disorganization.  Esther used to love watching the HGTV design shows where a team of experts would walk into a house that had been overrun by clutter and would transform it into a well organized, labeled space.  Her soul resonated with this work.  In 22 minutes of pseudo-reality TV, she would experience the presence of God.  With this divine connection in mind, she once tried watching an episode of the pseudo-reality TV show, Hoarders, but literally broke out into a cold sweat and had trouble breathing simply by looking at how disorganized life can get.  I would have to say that when preachers discuss hell, Esther doesn't picture flames, she pictures dusty piles of magazines and news papers stacked six feet tall and trash bags full of unworn clothes.  I, unfortunately, could learn to function just fine in Esther's hell.

I have been thinking a lot about this idea of combating chaos lately as I've been talking with my homeless friend, Greg.  Greg lives in a tent.  He used to have a big tent, but other than it's size, there wasn't anything fancy about it.  It was a tent that anyone can buy at Walmart.  His tent was packed with stuff that most people throw away, but it was all Greg's stuff, and he was therefore attached to it.  As the city emptied the homeless camps by the river, Greg had to move and as he couldn't haul all of his stuff on his back, he was forced to abandon his clearing, his stuff, and his tent.  We bought Greg a new tent, but when I gave it to him, though he was thankful, his depression was palpable.  Though there are some deeply seated issues that contribute to Greg's situation, he still has a certain vivacity.  He is playful and ornery.  The first thing he says when someone walks up to him is, "I didn't do it."  That spark has been missing since he had to move.  Last Sunday I found out why.

Greg is overwhelmed by the thought of clearing a new space in the woods.  His previous space didn't seem to me to be anything worth an emotional attachment, but according to Greg, it was completely overgrown when he "moved" there.  He removed small volunteer trees, cleared brush, created paths, and established spaces to accommodate all of the necessities of life.  His tent was level and there were no stumps poking him in the back.  In short, Greg had fought the chaos of nature and brought enough organization to one little spot to accommodate his life.  His current deep sadness is in the fact that he has to start over.  In Greg's heart, chaos won this battle and he's wrestling with feeling that he may not have the strength left to win the war.

People much smarter than me have noticed and taught the idea that the initial metaphor for human habitation on earth is a garden while the conclusive picture is a city.  The general idea is that the progression of human existence is away from chaos toward organization.  I don't want to over-think this comparison because there is something beautiful and organized about nature and especially gardens and I have seen far too much chaos in the city, but I think the basic structure of the metaphor is sound.  A Biblical picture with which I am more familiar is that of Noah.  A couple of weeks ago we read this story during our morning devotions with the kids.  We read about Noah's exit from the ark, which incidentally usually gets left out of the Sunday School lessons as Noah wound up drunk and naked and making a fool of himself.  I can relate.  The idea that we focused on over breakfast was the fact that Noah's first instinct upon leaving the ark was to plant a vineyard. He was drawn to clear space, till earth, plant in rows, harvest, ferment, and bottle.  His first instinct was to move from the chaos of a flood to the beautiful structure of a vineyard.

Chaos comes in many forms.  It can be in the woods, in a junk drawer, and in our hearts.  Part of what makes us human is the desire to fight against it.  We turn a patch of grass into rows of radishes and beets, we use a Brother PT-70 to keep the "stomach and digestive meds" in the right box, and we endlessly hunt for ways to bring peace to our souls.  One of the major themes of the Bible is Shalom.  It's peace, but a deeper kind of peace than the English word indicates.  Without pretending to be a Hebrew scholar, I will say this of Shalom, it is the opposite of chaos in all of it's forms.  It is the deep sigh of satisfaction we get when we finish a project, it's the hug after making up from a fight, and it's the incredible rest that comes with finally realizing that we are truly loved by God. We were made for shalom. This is why we get depressed when we lose our tent, why we plant veggies in rows,  and it is why a Brother PT-70 can cause tears of joy.