Treasures in the Valley

“The tragedy of life is often not in our failure, but rather in our complacency; not in our doing too much, but rather in our doing too little; not in our living above our ability, but rather in our living below our capacities.” Benjamin E. Mays

Organization has never been my strong suit. For most of my life, January is a month where I annually promise that “this year will be different.”

I clean out my files and desk drawers, buy organizers and labels, and sort through assorted papers stacked from here to eternity, but by the time the Super Bowl rolls around, Chaos is once again crowned King.

King Clutter rules my life. I wish it were different, but it isn’t.

I see a gizmo being sold on television that takes your receipts and transfers all the information neatly and painlessly into your computer. Ah, the promise of a life that is both paperless and organized is very attractive – but will it deliver? I’ll never know, because I lost the name and number of the scanner; it’s around here somewhere.

Oh well, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Such is life. I am finally able to take a long hard look at my inner soul and recognize that this particular characteristic is highly unlikely to change. I can (and do) make efforts to improve along these lines, but I’ll never really be successful – and that’s OK.

My bureaucratic inadequacies will make for a delightful discovery two thousand years from now when some archeologist will find my stash of scrolls and detritus and puzzle over the meaning of life as it was expressed and experienced in the “old west” of early twenty-first century America.

My being a slob today may help some future slob keep his or her job centuries down the road. When it comes to dirt, archeologists dig it, and that’s nothing to sneeze at.

Knowing my limitations doesn’t stop me from trying to improve; it just helps me adjust the energies I put into the matter. Organizational experts tell us “files are not a storage system, but a retrieval system.” I know that. My brain accepts it to be true. But I have squirrel DNA. I take my precious treasures and bury them hither, thither, and yon, and then I devote the rest of my waking moments scratching my head and wondering where on earth I buried my nuts.

So, I know that about me. I am not proud of it, but I accept it. I don’t rest on my laurels (partly because I can’t find where I put those dog-gone laurels, to begin with), but I can improve.

As useless as it may feel each January to strive to get organized, it would be worse if I did nothing at all. At least last year’s files are in a carton that is clearly labeled (but the label is on the side of the box I shoved up against the wall … sigh), and this year’s records will be in a fresh new container that I will label sometime between now and next January (after I locate my magic marker).

What is it about human nature that moves us to organize everything?

I suspect it has to do with control. When things are where they’re supposed to be, we save time and energy retrieving them. I admire folks with peg-boards in their garages and shops with “shadow-marks” outlining where each tool is supposed to hang. I like having things out where I can see them. I don’t like things hidden away in drawers or boxes so they’re hard to find.

I wonder if God is well-organized. There are times I presume God has a list of who’s naughty and nice – a cosmic Santa, if you will. But my hope is that God has my permanent record locked up in a drawer for which the key has been lost. Better yet, I pray those records get shredded every January.

As I picture it, confetti falls from the divine shredder into a chute that pours it all down into the bowels of Perdition, where the devil and his minions toss it into the fires while muttering under their breath, “Filing is Hell!”

If true, that could prove to be good news to treasure for everyone here in this, our valley.