Rambling Abundance

For many years I would not invite people to my house. I let the fact that we lived in a state of utter confusion and disorder, a total lack of organization, inhibit me. It was not from lack of trying or laziness, we have always just had too many people, with too much stuff, living in too little space, to ever be able to have a designated place for everything, thus the wave of continuous shift, was and is, inevitable.

Then, not too long ago, I made peace with my stuff. Oh, I still keep at it, trying to give away what I can, but there is just so much of it with eight people living together, that progress is slow. Also, with a low, low budget for our do it yourself renovation of a crumbling residence, we have to take supplies, furniture, and fixtures, when they are offered or available, not necessarily when they are needed, which means storage, which means a confused disorderly mass builds up, slowly with great stealth, until one day we give a large swath of it away in desperate frustration.

Sometimes at a great loss of a treasure or two, but we have sworn, and are doing pretty well with it, to not express too much regret over a loss when we find that the very thing we need today, was in the mountain we gave away yesterday. However I must say, that no treasures value has ever exceeded the foswab we receive when some of the trove is cleared, even if only temporarily.

So anyway, after our last move, and the new perspective I had been given from an enlightening post regarding the abundance I am sheltered amidst, I decided it was against my new found victory to not let others experience this splendiferous abundance too, hehehe, and thus, from this time forward, the open door policy began.

It has been an interesting experience to say the least, and I absolutely do not regret it, for one of my favorite past times is people watching. I have always been defectively curious regarding the interactions and reactions of others. I am truly not judging or laughing or any such reprehensible thing. I am just interested in how, and why, and what. This could, and most likely should, be considered a defect of some significance, because it makes me a watcher rather than a doer in life, but I have come to terms with it and made peace.

Well, what I have found is that there are distinctively two kinds, no three kinds, of reactions when people come over to my house and sit, if the can find a chair, to visit amid the hubbub of people in and out, stories and doings, treasures and who knows what. The first, my favorite, feels the comfort, hears the love, joins in with gusto as everything under the sun is discussed, chewed on, and marveled on by the residents of my madhouse. The second, also my favorite, feels the comfort, hears the love, and relaxes and just enjoys the ride even if they do not participate. The third, also my favorite, even as I wish I could somehow ease their cringing embarrassment, conjured from their feelings of¬†unnecessary¬†pity, but I haven’t come up with a solution that does not involve bringing my awareness of it to their attention, and that just won’t do, even as it irks me to not be able to fix the problem.

For this third group of visitors cannot seem to see beyond the Chaos, the stuff, the abundance, and notice what is not visible with the eyes. They have an overwhelming need for order, for modulation, for control, and I completely understand, really I do. For I too have my moments of desperate frustration, and have been known to give praises and thanksgiving to a good and holy God for the gift of doors. Still, they are always as welcome as anyone else, for they are one of my favorites don’t ya know.


‚̧ԳŹAbundant Blessings Belinda

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s