About a month ago, without realizing what I was doing, I pulled out the vacuum cleaner and sucked up some sand that my two daughters brought in with them.
After the floor was clean, I filled up the kitchen sink and did the dishes.
After the kitchen became its shiny best, I did the same thing to my office. You can now see the floor.
My wife watched all this with her mouth gaping open. She was scared. But pleasantly so.
You have to understand, this is not like me. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am a slob. A pig. Slovenly. That I luxuriate in my own crapulence.
But not now. Now I have an obsessive need to clean, organize, systematize, rank, and classify. I storm through the dishes the SECOND the last mouthful is swallowed. I run the vacuum cleaner through the house five times a week. I sweep my desk clean twice a day. I scrub, I shine, I bust dust.
I need to do this. I don’t know why.
It’s starting to freak me out.
My wife thinks it’s great. She says she feels like she’s on vacation.
My body feels like a nuclear reactor on overload. Or its the result of a deadline induced Red Bull binge. My limbs are awash with energy. But it’s not like the anxiety attacks I’d been having. I like this energy. My brain and body are in a constant race with each other, battling it out for supremacy.
I’m getting a lot of work done.
But I’m wondering if this is simply a result of growing up. I see my 36th birthday on this side of the horizon, and it’s telling me that I can’t be a kid anymore; that I need to put away childish things. That I need to contribute, to use my gifts, to do the best work that God has called me to do. This means that I need to be a better husband, better dad, better pastor, better friend, better neighbour, and better person.
Maybe my brain and body are giving me the tools to become who and what I want, and who and what God wants me to be.
Maybe.
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