It turns out pink punch is a lot like the spot in The Cat and the Hat Comes Back that just wouldn't go away. After our first Christmas party in our new home, in which children were welcome, there is now sticky pink punch in every room of my house. And the pink cream cheese mints? I just realized I'm sitting on a smear and am looking at another blob on the coffee table.
We spent three days preparing, ignored our children all day the day of the party to get ready, spent more money than we expected, have enough left-over food to have party number two tonight if we wanted to, stayed up about four hours later than we usually do, and I, being an extrovert, couldn't sleep when it was all over and done because I was so wound up. And now every floor in our house is sticky.
So was it worth it?
Was it worth our neighbors coming over who we have talked to only once in seven months, who suggested we do a babysitting swap as they left? Or two carpenter friends who didn't know each other before discussing their passion for woodwork? Was my college friend meeting my friend who just moved here from Chicago, two beautiful lovers of Jesus who didn't know each other before, finding that they have certain people and places in common a waste of time?
Or my three-year-old son, watching a movie with the "big" boys (the oldest who is about 8), trying to put his arm around a six-year-old from our church--my son, who is not physically affectionate and will only sit in our laps about twice a week?
Or my friends who have taken in their troubled teen-aged niece, who secretly indulged my one-year-old daughter all night with chocolates, punch and cookies, delighting in holding her and drinking in her baby-love cuddles? Or the couple that came by after all the families with kids had left that we got to talk to on a heart-level until late into the night?
We could have skipped the mess, saved money, spent a quiet Saturday as a family, and gotten more sleep, but in avoiding the inconveniences, we would have missed out on real, sticky, tired, rewarding life.
It is always easier to do nothing. Don't have the party, or whatever the party stands for in my life: joining something new, taking a step of faith, or choosing to engage in a new relationship that may not have the promise of longevity. But what might I miss?
And the spilled punch acts as a litmus test for what I worship. Do I care more about relationships with real people or about having nice things? Do I want a home that is immaculate, or a home that is used and truly lived in? Do I want a place where people can gather to laugh, connect, and share their lives, or a quiet home that insulates the people that live there?
Fear of losing control keeps me from throwing the party (whatever that party may be). I can't control every person at every time and that scares me. If it were just my kids and my family, they know we don't eat in the living room, so we don't have pink smears on the couch. But as soon as I let new people into my home--into my life--who don't abide by my rules, I may find my house sticky with pink punch, toys rearranged or broken and everything just slightly askew.
But God is calling me to do life and to do it with people. And that means stickiness--not just in some rooms of the house--but in every room of the house. It means engaging with people even though I would rather not because of selfish reasons. And it means giving up control because I don't know who God will bring or what He will do, but He guarantees that people are worth the mess because they are made like Him. And it is in the stickiness that we find life, because that is where Jesus lived, too.
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