Sorting Thoughts On Trash

[Please take a moment to read Stuck On Holiness. I would like to hear from you about the direction I should take here at Contratimes. Thanks.]

This will most likely mean nothing to you. But the following little story has a point I think needs making. My one question is whether I am the man to make it.

When I was working at a daily newspaper not far from here, I would often take an almost undue interest in a little Ford Escort wagon parked outside the building in which I worked. It was a perfectly normal little car; there was nothing unusual glued to its bumpers, printed on its license plate, or taped to its windows. But what interested me in this car was its interior: there was only room for the driver, since the rest of the car was filled with trash, with papers, plates, boxes and cans. Seriously. It was stacked exactly from the floors to the very top edge of the doors (the front passenger seat was not quite as full, though the floor was packed). And the dashboard was littered with envelopes, empty coffee cups and old napkins.

For a long time I wondered who it was who owned the car, imagining the person's house or apartment. This car, after all, revealed how the owner traveled about in public. What, I wondered, must his or her private life be like?

But I also wondered how it is that anyone could reach a point of being so thoroughly unable to keep his or her car clean. What sort of deficiencies must some folks have who cannot keep their apportioned areas tidy?

I never found out who owned the car, and it wasn't important even if I had. I have my own tidiness issues, after all. Yet there was something about it all that spoke to me, that suggested something to me that I could not express. I could just feel something.

And then, like a bucket of cold water during a hot shower (that old college dorm trick), I gained clarity: the person who owned the car was one of the neatest people in the world, with no difficulties at all keeping things clean.

Yes, you are now invited to snicker at me. I invite you to even scoff at me, if you must. You may laugh, and you may diagnose that I've lost my mind. But I hope you'll pull yourself together, because I am right.

You see, the man (for sake of efficiency here) who owns the car in question is profoundly able, fastidiously so, to keep part of his car perfectly clean, and that is the part from the top of the doors to the roof. You see, he is able to keep his view clear: the car was spotless for about the top two-and-a-half feet. Moreover, it is clear that it took daily effort and discipline to keep that area clear, ensuring that no part of the driver's view in any direction was obscured.

I ask, How is it that a man can keep only part of his world spotless, and yet not the other parts? (I mean, the dirty part of the Escort never, in fact, got dirtier.) And if the man whose house is filled with stacks of trash nonetheless has perfectly clean paths from room to room, how come he can't make those paths wider, until there is no trash at all? If I can clean my house until it is spotless, why can't I clean out my closests and junk drawers? In short, why do I stop cleaning and organizing? In one very real sense, the man whose car we are discussing manages everyday--and in some very bizarre way--to keep his trash from getting dirty. How does he manage to be so fastidious?

My point in these observations is partly to suggest that I was wrong for thinking that the little Ford Escort was driven by a person who had no capacity for tidiness. Egads, I was really wrong. But it is also to point out something else: that we are each in need of a full cleaning, and yet we stop, permitting some parts of us to remain rather thoroughly messy. We clean off the veneers and vacuum the living spaces, while ignoring the closets, the drawers, the undersides of furniture. We fuss over our windows, and neglect our barns. We trim our hair and polish our nails, and yet forget our well-hidden feet. Why? It's surely not due to incapacities: we manage to sanctify ourselves quite well in several obvious areas. Why do we stop at the edge of the brushed-nickle pulls on our kitchen draws?

I admit I am being silly. But there is something true here, though that truth be somewhat hidden. There is something true here about our relationships with the world, our brothers and sisters, our spouses and friends, and our God; and what might be hidden is the fact that we are more capable than we think.

Just look through those clear windows and see.

Peace.

©Bill Gnade 2006/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.