Bye Bye Clutter

When I was growing up, my brain worked in perfect harmony with disorder. My room hosted piles and piles of (mostly) clean clothes, some hanging out of overly stuffed drawers and others crumpled in corners of my bedroom in a wrinkly mess. To be honest, grabbing a pair of jeans could be like playing roulette--4 out of 5 pairs would be clean but one accidentally evaded the dirty clothes hamper. Surprisingly, I could usually locate whatever I was needing for the next football game or halftime show quickly. Red bloomers? Under my lamp. White skirt? Sharing a hanger with the black and red skirt on row two of my closet. When it was time to clean my room before the weekend, I could be found stuffing clutter into corners or under piles of clean clothes and sometimes throwing a blanket on top for good measure. My chores were simple-- vaccum and dust my room and have all clothes put away before I was allowed to do anything social with friends. The clause my parents forgot to include in our agreement was the part that said I should fold my clothes or hang them up. As a boundary pusher, the strategy I had of piling everything from candy wrappers to single socks to homework I forgot to turn in, seemed perfectly efficient to me. My sister did not thrive in such chaos, however. Her bed was neatly made, her clothes were put away, and her end of the deal was upheld in right order each week. On the off chance that my true clutter was exposed, I always had an excuse, always displayed dismay at the thought of not being allowed to be with my friends, and usually had an over the top meltdown until my mom caved and let me go.

By the end of 8th grade, even my teachers were catching on to the way I lived my life in a state of disorder. I carried a Trapper Keeper stuffed to the max with papers from the previous school year. My Lisa Frank folders ripped away from the seams and my books were never piled neatly one on top of the other. Instead, the books were hanging like misplaced Jenga blocks, daring me to make one wrong move and cause the tower to come tumbling down in the middle of the crowded hallway. So on the second to last day of school, when the students were honored for various achievements as proud members of the Den team, I got an award that caught me off guard. In fact I can remember wondering when the awards ceremony had turned into a roast battle, but there I stood, frozen, redfaced, half embarassed and half mortified, as my teachers held my certificate out for all to see--

The most unorganized in the 8th grade goes to.... Laura Spencer! Give her a round of applause for bringing the full contents of her locker with her to EVERY class!

A dull roar of laughter erupted throughout the cafeteria walls and I can remember wishing I could disappear. After all the times I volunteered to read in class, after all the times I led the discussion during debates, after all the performing arts programs where I gladly accepted speaking parts, they chose to dub me the most unorganized. Forget that I was a gifted speaker or a hard worker or an outgoing and friendly student-- in my perception, their only takeaway was that I could not get my life together when it came to being organized. Suddenly, I flashed back to our yearbook signing from earlier in the week when students had their picture taken for superlatives such as best dressed, most likely to become president, and most panther spirit. I was voted by my 8th grade peers as most unique. I can still see the frecklefaced boy in my 6th period who leaned over and said: WEIRDEST. That is just a nice way of saying you are weird.

I walked out of middle school with two word curses--unorganized and weird. These were labels I CHOSE to accept, true, but they were painful nonetheless. So when I chose to read a self-help book at 36 years old and start cleaning out the junk drawers of my heart, it was actually startling to get knocked straight to my knees the very same day I attempted to uncover years of hidden junk. At this point, I had spent over twenty years battling the lies of my uniqueness, which equated to rejection, and an equal amount of time avoiding the corners of my heart and the lies I had swept under my bed.

First, I must rewind just a bit...

We left for our second annual healing trip to Panama City Beach in December of 2021. The trip was magnificent in every way, with our fresh little baby in tow. Judson Rock Murphy was a double rainbow baby, accompanying us on our first family vacation after two second-trimester losses. Just a year earlier, we packed up our three kids and my broken heart and headed to the beach the day after Christmas thanks to a generous gift from one of our cross country families. At the time, we could barely afford the one star hotel for three nights, but we were oh-so-grateful for three chilly beach days away from the pain and loss of our hometown. Just one week before, we had lost our baby Jettson John Michael after I tested positive for COVID and threw a bloodcot. Returning home from the hospital, we removed his Christmas presents from under the tree and kept the news from our children as long as possible. Two days before Christmas Eve we buried him, silently sobbing as we pulled away from the weeping willow where both he and his sister Liv would share a memorial site.

On our healing trip, as I listened to the waves crash against the shore, I cracked open a book I had received from Josh just days earlier. Written by Jenn Johnson, All Things Lovely, was set up more like a colorful text book addressing what it means to be healthy and whole. The chapter that captivated my heart and made me want to take action when our trip was over, was about the junk drawers of our hearts. In this chapter, the author encouraged readers to clean out a junk drawer, both figuratively and literally. By beginning to purge all the hidden things we usually avoid, breakthrough can come.

On January 3, 2022, I had been home from the beach for one day, when I decided to start cleaning out the pots and pans in my kitchen cabinet. This might as well of been a giant junk drawer, as I found so many items in this small space that did not belong there. Among the clutter, I found unpopped popcorn, kitchen utensils, a missing croc (yes the shoe) and a countless amount of food items that must have been jammed into that space during a crash cleanup day when a guest showed up at our door unexpectedly or when we were on a time crunch to host a gathering at our house. Nevertheless, the cabinet was teeming with junk and I decided to do what I always did to soothe my ADHD brain, so I called my sister. For some reason, making phone calls when I needed to lock in and clean something was actually very effective for me. I would listen to what the person was sharing so I could hone in on a not-so-fun chore without walking away. On this particular day we talked at least half an hour, catching up about my beach trip and talking about back to school. Never in a million years would I have guessed the drastic change our lives would take during the very moments we spoke to each other on the phone.

My cabinet was neat and orderly by the time we hung up with eachother. I headed to my follow up OBGYN appointment for Judson, the six week checkup after my c-section. At the doctor, I can remember feeling a sense of gratitude and accomplishment. I took a selfie with the baby carrier and thanked God that I was at the other end of my journey with grief and loss. After losing Liv and Jettson in less than a year, I conceived Judson. Prior to this, I had been pregnant for 37 weeks total with babies we did not get to keep earthside. Today, we celebrated a milestone-- a totally healed and whole womb after the long road to carry life. We also celebrated a clean cabinet which somehow felt like step one to cleaning out the junk drawer of my heart. If I could do this everyday, I remember thinking, our entire house will be organized by spring.

I sat at the stoplight after leaving the the doctorś office, and I fought back tears. I had been at this very spot after I heard Liv had no heartbeat, for the days following Jettson going to heaven, and in the months leading up to Judsonś arrival. I had prayed at this stopsight, sobbed so profusely I could not see straight at this stoplight, and I had waited for the light to turn green amidst great pain at this stoplight. Today, I felt victorious. Judson was asleep in the backseat, I felt really good in my post-op, and the weather was unseasonably warm and sunny. Kids would head back to school the next day, but I did not have a care in the world because I was on maternity leave.

I felt a lump in my throat form when my phone buzzed Kentucky State Police calling. I opted not to answer the call and drove straight home. Later, I planned to tell my mom that my doctor visit went well and I was healing wonderfully. I would never get that chance.

During the time I was on the phone earlier that day with my sister, my mom was involved in a fatal car accident. The very moment I was cleaning out the junk drawer of my heart, I was becoming a daughter without a mother. My dad showed up at my house with my sister to deliver the news just minutes after I returned home from my doctorś appointment. Suddenly, I was mad at my healing trip. I was angry at the book I had just read. I was furious that I took the first step to eliminate clutter in my heart and my house. I felt cheated that I was celebrating the other side of the trauma and all in the same day, I was opening the door to a whole new layer of it.

Following the funeral, I refused to clean the rest of my house or work through the junk drawers at all. I did not care about cleaning out the clutter, I held it closer because it helped me mask my pain. By the time we moved houses two years later, the clutter and junk were at an all time high. We rented a dumpster three times and filled it to the brim, barely able to see a dent in the clutter. Where was the junk kept all these years, you might ask? There was clutter in every closet, in the attic, in the storage building, between our fence and the neighborś house, in every cabinet, under every bed, and in any space that could breathe if it were not held prisoner by the things I refused to throw away.

And here I am, three and a half years after losing my mom, with wisdom that grew in the wilderness and truth that is still thundering from beneath dry soil, to share that clutter in your drawer and clutter in your heart can be directly connected. In an especially hard season recently, I had to stay home from school with our two youngest kids. I took a long look at my bedroom closet, with clothes piled straight to the ceiling and I made a decision to purge every bit of the clothes I had not been wearing. I purged and purged and purged. I went through the stages- denial that any of this clutter was mine, anger that someone (me) could let it get this bad, bargaining that if I fixed this closet, I could reward myself with a nap. I ordered DoorDash trash bags so I could complete my purge, eventually removing 5 or 6 huge garbage bags from our house and transforming the space. I purged some of my pain too, crying out to God to intervene and give me the strength to stop sweeping things under the rug that are meant to be dealt with.

Proverbs 16:9 tells us that Man makes his plans, but the Lord orders his steps.

Just like the song by Forest Frank, his way is better. We can think we have it all planned out, but HE is the only one who truly knows the way.

During our season of great loss, I was too close to see that a better day was coming, one full of promise, healing, and life. Since I did not want to expose the true state of my heart, I did things the same way I dealt with the junk--I hid it. People who visited my home over the last five years might even think to themselves: This is not that bad! But if they were to open any closet, a great pile of all the things would collapse onto the floor. So what is the junk drawer of our hearts? Anything we know we need to deal with, but we choose to hide instead.

Maybe I need to call him and apologize. I came across as extremely harsh the other day. I am not reaching out first, though; this one is on him.

Clutter.

That really hurt my feelings, but I am not going to address that because it will probably lead to more rejection.

Clutter.

I feel a sense of conviction about the movie or show we have been watching in our home, but maybe I am just overreacting.

Clutter.

I want to spend time with Jesus, but I already feel so distant. What is the point?

Clutter.

The pain I walked through in that season is something I never want to relive. I still have layers of hurt and mistrust from it, but I do not ever want to think about it or talk about it again.

Clutter.

They have an easy life. If I had their income/house/spouse/car/lifestyle, I would be super happy, too.

Clutter.

Hidden sin.

Clutter.

Explosive anger.

Clutter.

In the song We Make Space by Melissa Helser, she sings the words: We are clearing out the clutter, for the only thing that matters.

When clutter is present in our drawers and in our heart, there is less room for the freedom of the very best God has for us. I do not believe that everything is God-sent, but I do know that everything can be God-used. I have learned that if I am struggling in the season I am in, I have to break up with the lies that were spoken to me (like being the most unorganized or the weird one) because they are contrary to who God says I am. This is the junk we let sit in the drawer. I have to open the drawer and start tossing things that are just clutter. In honor of our babies in heaven, in honor of my mom, who was a clean freak, in honor of my children who watch the example I set for them, in honor of the home God is trusting us with, I know how important it is to say bye-bye clutter. It is not an overnight fix. It is a process and a commitment to make space.