Ode to Routine

It is Monday, again. The work week begins anew; the kids head back to school. And the week's worth of chores awaits, again.

There was a time in my life a once dear friend called me "rigid" because of the routines I had set up in my life. She didn't see much worth in doing things in any set order or in a pattern that made sense to me. She also hassled me about the tidiness I preferred in my dresser drawers and closet. But the word "rigid" really bothered me when she used it.

In her thinking, being foot-loose and fancy-free, though those weren't cool enough words to describe it, was the end all be all of her existence. She wanted to be wild, free, impulsive, and unfettered.

At the time, I thought that might be a good way to live, but it made me very uncomfortable if I thought long about it. I lived in a regular house, with things to do and jobs to accomplish. I set my own goals too and they required baby steps to finish. I felt, following her pronoucement that I was "rigid" that the life was just sucked out of my existence and I had no more chance for fun.

The revelation came to me one day, many years later. This same friend, now divorced from a real creepy guy we all felt we had to like and accept at first because she insisted he was wonderful, was in a world of hurt. She was suffering; her children were suffering. Her free styling sense throughout her life didn't avoid the pain she was facing. She wasn't any braver about the terrible things that had come to her in her life because she was so "go with the flow". In fact, there was a lot of security she suddenly thought looked appealing that could only come from routine and order.

All along the way, I still lived my folded socks, shirts on hangers, to-do list, schedule and plan way of life. I had accomplished many things I wanted. The things I had accomplished were things I wanted deep down--my undergraduate degree, a settled family life, a service-filled, Christ-centered life. These were not the things this friend once proposed to me as rigid any more. They were things that made me happy. They were ways of living that felt the most real to me. They were ways of thinking that brought me joy.

So, if I begin another week by doing laundry and changing the sheets on my bed and the towels in my bathroom, it doesn't hurt my feelings anymore that you may see that as "rigid". Tuesday morning I see that as clean clothes to wear, clean bathroom to get ready in and sheets and towels that smell like dryer sheets. It feels like my life and I can finally tell you that I am just fine this way.