Friday, November 20, 2009


I have this thing about closets. I secretly like to see other people's closets. Especially people who are organized and have it all together (like I wish I did). No, I don't go to anyone's home and snoop through their closets but I do enjoy the (invited) opportunity to peek in one's closet. I really like it if their closet turns out not to be as organized as the rest of their house, as justification for my unorganized closet.

The closet is where seemingly perfectly organized people put things that just don't belong anywhere else. It's the last place that those people who have it all together get to when they are cleaning and making their homes look perfectly in order. I enjoy that glimpse into a less than sparkling closet that says that they are just a tiny bit like me, that everything, every corner, every shelf in their home is not impeccable.

It's funny how our lives are like our closets. Most of us can manage to appear to have our act together. But everyone has a "closet" of life. It's where we store those hurtful words that we carelessly flung at our husband. It's where we stash the moments of insensitivity and impatience that we've shown only to our children. Those actions and reactions that would embarass us if others saw them. In our "closets" you will find the harsh temperament that we would never share with outsiders; only those closest to us, the ones we expect to be forgiving, and accept us for who we are.

I have a huge bedroom closet, it's one of the reasons we bought our house. It is a constant struggle to keep it neat, orderly and free from unnecessary junk. Similarly, my "closet" of life is also very large and I have to try really, really hard to keep it free from negativity, frustration and hurtful words and attitudes. I am working toward filling my "closet" with kindness, thoughtfulness, and gentleness. I'm throwing out all the other "junk". I'm sure it will sometimes creep back in, as junk often does. But I vow to have a more pleasant "closet" to share with my family.

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