I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s a deep, dark, cobweb-covered secret that you have to promise not to tell anyone. Promise? Are you ready for this? First, let’s set the scene …
It’s a beautiful, bright day. But, in the basement, it’s gloomy. The tiny windows don’t let in much light. In some places, the walls are covered by faux wood paneling. But in most places, the chipped, grey, stone foundation is clearly visible. The air is musty and stale. No one comes down here much except to grab something from storage or to use the washer and dryer that are pushed against the far wall.
Near the bottom of the stairs is a wooden door that is rarely used. And yet, if you were to peek into the room that lies behind that door, you would be pleasantly surprised. For inside is a startlingly modern washroom. It is bright and white and bizarrely out of place in this dark subterranean part of the house.
Even more bizarre, however, is the assortment of dish towels and cleaning supplies that fill its cupboards.
“Why is this a secret? What’s the big deal?” you ask.
Well, the big deal is that, although I am describing my very own basement to you, those dish towels and cleaning supplies don’t belong to me. They belonged to the previous owner and are probably covered in dust and cobwebs. It’s all quite disgusting.
You see, although I’ve lived in this house for five years, I rarely enter that room. No one sees it. No one uses it. I can’t be bothered to clean it. After I settled into my home, I never even really examined its contents too closely. I simply closed the cupboard doors and pretended that the room didn’t exist.
It makes me think about my spiritual life. My heart didn’t always belong to Jesus. And there are things deep inside that are left over from the previous owner. Things that I don’t want to face. Dusty things. Dirty things. No one sees them and dealing with them is too much work.
So I simply close the door and pretend that they don’t exist.
Or I did until recently, anyway. Lately, God has been digging deeper and deeper into those tender areas. Cleaning. Healing. Restoring. Though sometimes it stings a little, it’s a beautiful thing. So very liberating.
We all have those places in our hearts, don’t we? Hidden attitudes. Hidden sins. Hidden hurts. And we’ll never be healthy and whole until we start to open those areas up to Jesus.
Unfortunately, even though there is an amazing spiritual analogy to be found in my dirty basement bathroom, writing about it isn’t making it any cleaner. Time to buy some rubber gloves and get to work. Yuck.