Tumbleweed

It’s been very windy lately, and to say that in Wyoming is really saying something.  When I sweep the dirt out the door in the administration building on campus, I find a lot of the dust blowing back in on me.  Leaves from the few trees in the area float in… no, they’re driven in, on the gusts of this blustery February.  And tumbleweed makes a regular appearance.

Today, one of the tumbleweeds was a particularly pretty specimen.  It was a branch of old, dried out, small flowers.  I contemplated picking it up, keeping it in my room.  My brain flashed to what my guy friends would say if they knew I had it.  Not because I cared what they thought in that I wouldn’t do it if they disapproved.  No, I’ve just gotten to know their thought patterns a bit more lately, and I realized some of them would scratch their heads and wonder why I had such a thing.  And really my only answer could be, “Because it’s pretty.”  This would not be a satisfactory answer to many of them.

And to me, it often isn’t a satisfactory answer either.  But I thought back over the past year to some of my happiest moments.  Often they involved a friend or family member giving me something pretty.

In my job, I naturally kept pretty things around me.  I was careful to keep my desk clean, and when it wasn’t, you knew I was stressed and overly busy.  I had pictures that meant a great deal to me.  Words from verses, friends, colleagues, quotes I’d heard, my parents.  I surrounded myself with beauty.  My favorite hobby was floral design.  Why?  Because in the midst of a swirling, chaotic mess of anger and abuse and the worst society has to offer, I needed to be reminded that there is still light in the darkness.

A good friend told me recently: “All the darkness in the world cannot snuff out a candle.”  It’s true.  No matter how dark it is, the darkness CANNOT overcome the light.  But it is so easy to forget that.  When you live day in and day out surrounded by darkness, the only sanity you can cling to is the beauty of pictures, words, flowers, friends, family.  But you have to hold onto it with white knuckles, gritting your teeth, refusing to let it go.  It’s hard.  It hurts.  It’s the only thing you can do or else you will go insane and you will become that thing that you fight so hard against.

Now, I have come up against harsh, overwhelming, bitter spiritual attack.  The constant barrage of: “You’re worthless.  You don’t have a place to belong.  You’re stupid.  You’re in the wrong place.  You will never matter.” is exhausting.  Absolutely bone wearying exhausting.  Fighting lies, knowing they are lies but being so tired I find myself almost wanting to give in and believe them because maybe then I would feel some relief.

In that moment of contemplation of that lone piece of tumbleweed, I didn’t realize what I discovered as my day went on: I need to surround myself with beauty again.  Why is the “clean box,” as I like to call it, the best place for me to go?  Because when I am cleaning, there is order, but more than that, there is beauty.  When you wipe away all the smudges from the windows, when you vacuum up the mud, when you mop away the dirt from the floor, there is a beauty to it.  Maybe not to everyone, but to me, it restores the beauty that should have been there in the first place.  It takes the yuck out and leaves something restored in its place.  And no, it’s not perfect.  The carpet is worn from the flow of people through the doors.  The rugs are a little more dingy than maybe I would like.  The windows have a few streaks.

It’s an amazing picture though of what it’s like in life.  As hard as this time in my life has been, I know it’s God sweeping up the dirt.  And when I open the door and allow the wind to blow some of the dirt back in, He’s faithful to come along and sweep it up again when I close the door and allow Him to work.  I’m a little scarred, not exactly pristine.  But those are the signs that I didn’t just sit back with a dust cover over me being useless.

I didn’t pick up the tumbleweed today.  I figured it would just take up space I don’t have.  But it gave me something important to contemplate: places where I can add beauty back into my life.