What You Can See from the Front Door

I've always thought I had the perfect system.  Since it isn't possible to have every nook and cranny of my house clean all at the same time, I prioritize.  The first thing that gets attention is what you can see from the front door.  I wouldn't want to be embarrassed if somebody just dropped by.  If somebody came in for a short visit or I had to open the door for a salesman, it would look like I was the perfect housekeeper.  The front room we seldom use except for company, so if I keep it dusted and vacuum occasionally, I'm good.  I have to pick up a backpack or a wet pair of shoes once in a while and push in the piano bench from the practices that get interrupted.
I work my way in from the front door.  Family room, Kitchen, then whatever is piled on the steps.  If I have a lot of errands to run, or projects to finish, then my system keeps my reputation intact.  Who is ever going to see my master bath or closet?  Shut the door and get to it the next day. . .or the next.  After all, those are my spaces.  It's unselfish right--making sure the common areas of the house get clean first.  Even in the kitchen,  if the counters and the table are cleaned off, what difference does it make if there are a few dishes in the sink or if the pantry is organized?  It's like making sure the table is set even if dinner still has 45 minutes to go, just because it makes me look like I'm on the ball.
I  remember  one time that using my system backfired.  We lived in a very small two bedroom apartment.  Some friends came over for dinner.  What would they need to see my bedroom for?    There was only so much time, so the clean laundry was piled  high on our bed--not folded of course.   It didn't cross my mind that she would need a private spot to nurse her baby.  It was pretty mortifying.  Generally though, it has served me well for many years and made me appear to be quite tidy.
Here's the rub.  When you sit back and ponder, everything you do or don't do has a rub.  My system makes me a Pharisee.  My inner vessels get neglected and I put all my energy on the outside of the cup--the  parts that other people might see.  I think if I really let myself analyze my life, that philosophy applies to more than just the way I clean my house.  I only say bad words in front of my husband and a couple close friends.  I only yell at my kids inside our home.  I'm only unkind to anonymous strangers that I don't think I'll ever see again.  There are many other weaknesses and sins I keep to myself.  No reason for anyone to know what's behind that door.
I rationalize and say to myself,  "it's much harder and more time-consuming to scrub the spot off the floor that only I can see, than it is to keep the clutter off the steps.  How important can it be if only I would notice it?"  Well only I know that my prayers don't get said.  Only I know that I hardly feel the Spirit.  Only I can see the spots that need to be scrubbed off my soul, but I keep up the reputation for the people who aren't exposed to the private moments.  This isn't my only Pharisee characteristic.  I've often thought how much easier things would be if an ancient law told me how many steps to walk.  And for that matter, it could tell me which room to clean and exactly how much time to spend on each project.  But I guess that's why I am supposed to live a higher law--so it will be up to me.  My mistakes.  My sins.  My successes.  I need to decide that the inner things deserve as much attention as the outer.  I need to realize that God can see in that room.  I can't hide my unfolded messes in a room he won't see.  I can't make up for those messes with pretty rooms out in the open.

Why the Title?

Many years ago I was sitting in a class at church when the teacher asked,  "What's the most important lesson you've learned in life?"  Like always, the standard Sunday school answers were given.  I don't remember exactly what they were except that they were easily given without much thought.  I raised my hand and said,  "I've learned that I'm not in charge."  The teacher was stunned.  She actually asked me to explain what I meant and sat down.  I was uncomfortable telling the room what I meant, but I think after this much time and many experiences, I can share it with some level of ease.  God is always in charge.  In every breath.
He's the one who blessed me with the goodness in my life.  Every good thing comes from him and if I think that I earned the good in my life then I am not confessing His hand in all things.
Let me claify.  I fully believe in moral agency.  I believe in choice.  I just also believe that He's in charge of what choices are presented to me.  He's in charge of the consequences that come from the choices I make.  Only He knows what I am strong enough to handle and what I will do with the choices I am given.
He's the one who gave my husband his gorgeous red hair.  I could believe that genetics did that, but whose in charge of genetics?  He's the one who decided my friend  shouldn't be able to bear her own children.  He's the one who allowed cancer to take her soon after the adoption of her two daughters was final. 
Someone asked me recently why I couldn't decide whether or not to bring a lawsuit against the doctors involved in my son's death.  My response was based on this simple truth of not being in charge--"How do I take God out of it?"  If he was supposed to live, the doctors couldn't have overruled God's decision.  My miracle son had already spent 16 years proving to doctors that they weren't in charge.
I'm not mad at God that bad things happen to me and those I care about.  I submit (interesting word choice, even to me.)  that I don't understand, but being mad at a God who loves me, who knows all, and is in charge of the universe really serves no purpose.  The "big picture" is too big for me to be in charge of.  So I give that to him willingly.  He's the only possible choice when thinking of who could decide when a city will be flooded or who will be there when someone's agency brings heartache to seemingly random people.  Only He is qualified to decide who should be born where, under what conditions and into which family.  He's the one I want to decide what I need.  He loves me beyond human capacity.  How can I pass on that?