Squeaky

My closet is clean. 

Not just clean. Organized. A little crammed (well, a lot crammed), but functional. This new order probably comes at the expense of my dear roommates first hour of sleep tonight, since I took up the charge to do something about my closet at approximately 12:15 a.m. and our floors are becoming increasingly loud when we step. Seriously, though, I couldn't let it sit like that any longer. Nothing had a place, and finding something as simple as a coat (Noelle searched for one to no avail at around 11:45, which sparked the whole "I will not rest until something is done about this" kick) became a task just not worth the time. Not worth the energy or concentration or effort. 

Problem is that there are some good clothes in there. Gifts. Donations. Memories. Good articles of clothing. But in my laziness I pass up the opportunity that others have provided by giving me these nice things. I settle for blue jeans and the same coat because I can't seem to find the time to rearrange. It feels so good to have that done now! But as I took hangers from here and hung something up there, the shift of my weight made the wood boards underneath my feet squeak. I couldn't move without noise happening under me. There was not a way to go about this subtly. The noise was necessary for rearranging. 

My thoughts are a lot like my closet pre-cleaning tonight. I've just let them get jumbled and crammed and everywhere. Nothing is wrong. Just sporadic and momentary. My thoughts are focused on myself and how I'm going to fare with my classes and when I'm going to do lunch and when I'm going to go the gym and how I feel about race (African American Lit. class) and if I can remember the french word for "to become" (devenir) and what the 60's mean to me (Sophomore American Studies Seminar). This is a time where I have to make an effort to arrange my thoughts. I have to organize my education. And I have to think about where new knowledge and ideas fit in with the old. And when I'm not careful, what I believed before is pushed to the back of my mind and I abandon it all, altogether. 

Working it out requires noise. It takes work. It takes some shifting around. That's why I have this blog. It's why I'll write papers on varying subjects this semester. It's why I have friends, who, bless their hearts, patiently listen as I think out loud. But the act of cleansing my thoughts should somehow be expressed. If I'm not shifting around and organizing my ideas, it may be quieter but it's messier. And I run the risk of passing up a very valuable education, and more importantly some rewarding, productive time with God, for the convenience of carrying on with my day. I want to hear some squeaking going on up there in my head; have some clarity.  But right now I just feel lazy and unmotivated. And jumbled. And disorganized. 

I know how rewarding it will feel to reconcile all of the information that is being introduced to me in classes, or ideas presented to me by friends, or mission opportunities, or internship possibilities, with each other. I don't consider my religion to be another category of thoughts. God, I don't group you with the cardigans in my closet. You're how I perceive every other ounce of information that comes in. And I'm in a place that often makes me feel like this is wrong. That I should be unbiased, with no filter for ideas as they come in. This is just not possible. And as long as something is going to be skewing my perception of the world, I am so game to let it be you. Help me here, to organize it all. To objectively look at what I am being shown, especially academically, and find places for it all. That I would be able to access it all. That I would engage it all, rather than pass this education, and learning more about you, up.

Open the closet door and delegate the classification of my thoughts, as the ground squeaks beneath me. As I put my ideas out there. Help me work it out. Make the sound of my imperfection keep me alert as I engage in this world you've made me a part of.