Dismantling tent city

I count four blankets in this playroom chaos from the '80s

Destructive beings called preschoolers used to sabotage my living room, turning it into tent city. I admit: I permitted the mess, thinking it supported budding creativity. Sheets, blankets, pillows, the card table, chairs, mop handles and other handy materials became the secret castle. On occasion, I indulged them with lunch under the “canopy,” with a plastic tablecloth underneath it all in case the milk runneth over.

But we had a rule: tent city all came down by 3:30, when Dad came home from his job. After a day of alligator-wrestling, er, teaching elementary students, the man of the house deserved peace, not pillars of pillows. A clean floor, not one littered with tiny plastic snap-blocks and tinier dolly high heels. Quiet, not quaos (hey, it rhymes).  With apologies to Isaiah 40:3-4, the crooked got straightened out and the rough places made plain. Okay, I’m switching metaphors. Isaiah’s came from times when roads would have been test tracks for four-wheel-drive vehicles--which, of course, they didn’t have. Emperor coming through? Call the beefed-up road crew (aka slaves)!  Fill the potholes! Dump the hill dirt into the valleys! Prepare a smooth way for His Highness’s chariot!

But maybe there’s a connection. Growing in Christ means becoming aware of the rocks and holes in our spiritual lives. It’s deciding the “sin-mess” isn’t what we want when He comes back to earth again. And it may happen sooner than we think.  My preschoolers would have said “amen” to that when I poked a ticking timer under the “tent.” In fifteen minutes “Tent City” had to be past tense.  There were always great wails and gnashing of teeth. But at least their Dad wouldn’t break his neck.