Unfinished Business

Wake up. Remember, ah yes. Need to write my column today. 

Make hot cocoa. Feed cats. Open blinds. Sit down at computer.

Check email. Research kitchen timers on Amazon. Check weather forecast. Stir hot cocoa. Type a paragraph.

Child requests breakfast. Walk toward kitchen. Remember dryer hasn't been emptied; go downstairs to laundry room. Pull out laundry and dump into basket. Carry upstairs. Child has made toast. Set laundry basket on kitchen floor to wipe up jelly on counter. Make egg/cheese/mustard sandwich. Remember hot cocoa. Return to computer.

Type a paragraph. Check email.

Egg is runny - mmm - but dribbles off the side of plate onto computer. Get up for napkin. Clean off computer. Take dishes to kitchen. Remember we're out of milk. 

Go to store. Go home via the lake.

Put away groceries. Bump into laundry basket. Pick up and head to bedroom. Notice computer. Set laundry basket on table. Check email.

Write a paragraph.

Fend off snuggly cat. Snuggle cat. Check email.

Google cat hair removal tricks. Check price of duct tape on Amazon. Get up to feed the parakeet. Sit back down. Check email.

Write a paragraph. 

Take laundry basket to bedroom. Organize shoes under dresser.Visit dust bunnies. Return to computer.

Check email.

Look up pork roast recipes. Put pork roast in slow cooker. Rummage in fridge. Eat a slice of bologna. Remember I don't like bologna. Pet dog. Sit down at computer.

Check weather. Check email. Write a paragraph. 

Wander outside. Play catch with son. Pull a few weeds. Close eyes and listen to wind.

Go back inside. Sit down at computer. Type a paragraph.

Shiver. Wish for a sweatshirt. Wonder where I left the basket of laundry.

Decide to finish my column tomorrow.

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It's not that I don't want to finish the projects I start. It's just that I'm really, really bad at it.

My husband will back me up on this. He has earned sainthood by putting up with twenty years of my unfinished projects. Good intentions in hand, I charge fearlessly into any situation, determined to Make My World Better and Contribute To Society. And I do a pretty good job of it most of the time, until it comes to the last bit. The finishing part.

My home is full of tubs that tell the tale of my errant ways. There are tubs full of classroom supplies in the living room, awaiting my attention. Tucked into the basement storage room isa tub of craft supplies from our booth at last summer's Nautical Festival. I'll put them away eventually.  Probably. 

Somewhere in another of my tubs you'll find the blue curtains that I decided to make for our very first apartment that were never hung up because I didn't finish sewing the last hem. I come across them every once in a while, contemplate getting rid of them, and then decide that I'll finish them eventually and put them back in their tub.

Why? Why is it so hard to finish a project? Why is there a ladder in my kitchen that will be there for the next week and a half?

Only one answer, I suppose. Because I'm human.

Oh, sure, there are a few of you out there who get all of your projects finished right away. I admire you intensely. But c'mon, there's got to be something that you don't get done right, right away. Because you're human. 

We mess up. We leave things unfinished. It's what we do.

We don't fully forgive. We neglect to notice our neighbor. Our innocence is incomplete.

The detritus of our unfinished projects litters our landscape, reminding us of our failures, pointing to our inability to take care of the crucial business of life. The ladders in our spiritual kitchens mock us and tell us we are doomed to inadequacy.

It would have been easy for God to not finish the project of humankind. At the beginning maybe we seemed like a good idea, but before too long we had proven that we're not really a project worth finishing.

And yet, there was a death on the cross. And an Easter resurrection.

I may not finish the work that is given me to do. But God never considered leaving incomplete the salvation of my soul. All that needed to be done to make each of us the whole, forgiven, completely loved children of God we are intended to be has been accomplished. 

There may be twenty year old unhemmed curtains in my basement , but because of Jesus, I am complete.

It is finished.