Serenity and Order

I'm going to choose two words: Serenity and Order. Breathe in . . . breathe out: serenity. Breathe in . . . breathe out: order.  

Here's what's up.  My physical world is a mess.   A MESS.  A monstrous, maniacal, murderous, meandering MESS. (Yes, it does meander.  It's evil.  It's got tiny, hairy, black legs.  It's full of spite and malice.) For three years now I've been running from one deadline or crisis to another, juggling far too much and barely surviving by ignoring my own life and house. Mostly, I've only been able to drop by occasionally here at home to do a load of laundry or two and pay only the most insistent of bills. First it was full-time school at UVSC while I was still serving about 20 hours a week down at BYU. Then it was out to Hawaii to take care of Natalie's house and boys while she and Richie did EFY. Then home for a breath or two and away to Arizona for a month to help my mom-in-law deal with some medical issues. Let's see, then where? Back to Hawaii for a month for Lincoln's birth, I think. At the end of one of those jumbled months in there, I moved unexpectedly to Scottsdale to take care of Mom and Dad-in-law--and stayed, full-time, for seven months, and then, after a couple of months to help ease Dad after Mom's death, I moved from Arizona to California to get Dad set up and comfortable in assisted living. Next, out to Hawaii on a sudden emergency, and back to Scottsdale to get the folks' house emptied out--60 years worth of stuff!-- cleaned and ready to rent, and then, Gavin's death.  And the world came screeching to a halt, sending suitcases, laundry, paperwork, treasured possessions, hearts, minds, memories, souls and sanity skidding and crashing in all directions. When I finally made it home last July, it was the first time I'd slept in my own bed in over a year . . . and at that point, all my grieving body wanted to do was just that: sleep, sleep, s l e e e . For an entire year: I ate then slept, then ate and slept, again and again and again. Meanwhile, the piles of un-ironed clothes, stacks of mail and magazines, the towers of who-knows-what-that-is-or-where-it-goes, have multiplied and crept into every corner and taken up residence on every horizontal surface of my life. I feel like one of those crazy pack-rats that gets outed by her kids on Oprah. I don't dare get out of bed in the night to use the bathroom for fear I'll trip and fall into the black hole of one of these piles, and disappear. And then, heaven help me, someone else will have to come in and figure out what to do with all this mess.

So, today I'm choosing two words: Serenity and Order. And I'll breathe into them over and over until I've shoveled my way out. I'm not sure how long it's going to take, but I'll keep you posted. Wish me luck. 

Do you have a word or two you'd like to breathe into?