If we have forgotten the Name of our God,
or stretched out our hands to some strange god,
Will not God find it out?
for he knows the secrets of the heart.
The house is not neat. The dishwasher flooded over the weekend when some frozen pipes finally thawed and waits in disorderly repose to be tended by a repairperson. The bed’s mended side rail gave way after two years and needs to be replaced. Piles of teenage stuff that will probably never be taken to their rooms or disposed of lurk around more than one corner. Paperwork that may eventually resolve into this year’s tax return currently conceals the desktop and several bills that need attention. And then there is the email.
I find it difficult to let these things be. I know I can make a god of neatness and order. I can not only berate myself for not getting it all done, but also set absurd standards for what should be accomplished. How hard can it be? Hard enough to bring me to my knees.
The false urgency of the disarray can distract me from the important and holy work of tending to relationships—with my husband, with each daughter, with God.
God knows this about me. And on a good day, I know it about myself. But still the enemy tempts me to forsake my God, and all that I know about love and forgiveness.
This is one reason I walk the wilderness way. To remember. And to be remembered.