Cleanliness isn’t always next to Godliness

My alter ego

Johnny Cash once said he was actually two people, John R. Cash, a decent fellow, and Johnny Cash, a drug-engendered nightmare of person. We all have two sides to us—one that means well and one that doesn’t. This is why we hurt the ones we love so deeply. They’re the closest to both sides of us.

I surely don’t mean to hurt my family and friends, it’s just that, every once in a while, people drive me crazy.

Like the man in black, I am part nice guy and part train wreck. I try to be a great husband and a good dad, but I’m an untrained Jedi, susceptible to the dark side. This dark side comes out in several ways, of which my family calls a “the cleaning Nazi.” Over the years, I have learned to censor, if not completely ignore, this part of me.

But I need refresher courses from time to time. One Sunday afternoon the Nazi was barking his cacophonous propaganda in my head. It was after a really nice day at church. The worship time was fantastic and sermon was probably just what I needed to hear, but none of that helped me against what lay ahead.

At the time, my wife and I were in the middle of remodeling our downstairs bathroom, so the house was a bit of a construction site. Also, in my defense, the work involved left me very tired. Drained. Knowing this, I wisely decided that, instead of just saying what I was thinking, a satirical tirade on putting stuff away after you use it, I would take a nap.

However, instead of waking up refreshed, I woke up in a tizzy because the chaos in our house had multiplied at an alarming rate.

“Just walk outside,” I told myself, knowing I was in peril of starting a family feud.

While I was walking toward the door, my then 13-year-old son, Nate, stopped me to ask a bunch of questions. I couldn’t even focus on what he was saying because I was beginning to hyperventilate. Emmett, my 10-year-old son had three or four packs of plastic creatures spread out all over the place; my 4- and 7-year-old daughters had thrown dress up clothes all over the floor and were playing cards; My wife and sixteen-year old were enjoying a cup of tea together in the kitchen. Then, the cleaning Nazi started screaming in my head.

Sadly, I was overcome. Flooded with a kind of panic, I began barking at the kids to pick their stuff up off the floor. Then I grabbed the broom and began furiously sweeping the few parts of the floor that weren’t taken up by dragons and mystical creatures.

Next, my wife, Stephanie, and I had a bit of public discussion. She was trying to defend the kids, but I was in no mood. While we were “talking,” Ana, my then 16-year-old, stood by. I noticed her waiting to jump in to the conversation when I turned toward her. My eyes were burning coals of red.

“You think this is Debate Team or something?” I growled.

“I just had something to say…” I bore my fangs at her as she said this.

“But, never mind,” she finished, retreating to her room.

Grrrr.

Abruptly the quarrel ended.

I went outside feeling exhausted and sad after my fit of rage. My dark mood was in sharp contrast to the beautiful day. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, and the sound of children playing echoed through our neighborhood.

I decided to take a walk down the street to see if a change of scenery would change my mood. Just then I noticed my then four-year-old daughter Tessy outside by herself. I asked if she’d like to come with me. She bounded through the bushes and ducked under a branch of the Fir tree in our front yard, beaming at me as if I were God himself asking her to join Him for a walk in Garden of Eden during the cool of the day. She grabbed my hand and we headed down the road.

“I’m sorry Mommy got so mad at you Daddy,” she said, looking up at me through her curly locks of blond hair.

“Actually, I was the one who got mad. It’s my fault that me and Mommy were talking so loud, sweetheart,” I confessed.

“I’m still sorry Daddy, and you are very cute,” she said. This cracked me up. It felt good to laugh. I thought of The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. I could feel my heart growing. It was because I love her so much. I love her all the time, but sometimes, like after you’ve just verbally blasted your whole family, you really get in touch with how much you truly love them. It’s like you’re seeing your life from a different vantage point, and you realize how much it all means and how delicate you really are, and how strong love really is.

Tessy proceeded to tell me about how she was going to buy a Chihuahua when she grows up and that she’s going to name him Husky, or maybe Chopper. She also told me that the donkey that lives down the street from us must be sick because he never comes out to “talk” to us anymore. She asked if we should call 991 for him.

By the time we were home I felt like a whole new person. I thought about the mess the kids had made in the living room. Then I thought about the mess I made in the living room.

Love is stronger than the cleaning Nazi. And God, knowing that I’m part cleaning Nazi (and a couple of other worse things too), still puts all these amazing people in my life because I need them to anchor me to more important things. There’s an amazing connection between all of us and God. It’s called the Kingdom of God. And it’s the magic that keeps us connected and interdependent. The cleaning Nazi, is a punk that manifests when I’m over-tired or unable to figure out what’s really bugging me.

Though I am not truly the cleaning Nazi, I frequently need forgiveness. I wish I had a really neat way little chestnut of wisdom to share about how to avoid being a jerk, but I don’t. I try to see the true person my wife is moving toward becoming, and she tires to see the same in me. Sometimes I make it hard. But, forgiveness is so sweet.

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