On Cleaning Floors

I always knew when my poor dad had vacuumed.
My bed would be covered with all the stuff that had been all over my floor.
I can't think right now what it all was.  I was too old for toys.
Probably clothes, books, papers, trash.
Whatever it was, there was plenty of it.
And he was the one who had to shovel it all up there, only for me to likely throw it back on the floor when I got home.
Sadly, I am really not all that different, twenty-plus years later.  Now, though, it bothers me.
I have never been a neat person.  Organization does not come easily to me.  I want to teach my children responsibility.  I want an orderly (not perfect) home.
I try, I really do.
Maybe that's why I enjoyed mopping the floor today.  I won't tell you how long it had been but  I will say it was last year.  Something about a clean floor is good for my sanity.  I think it's because in order to mop or vacuum, you first have to pick up everything that was on the floor to begin with.
Sweep up the crumbs, scrape off the dried cereal, put the books back on the shelf, search for all those little legos.
It won't take long for those things and more to find their way back to their familiar places on the floor.
But for a while, even a short while, my sanity (or at least some of it) is restored.
The thing I am learning about all of this, though, is that it is not the clean nor the dirty floor, the messy nor the neat house, nor anything else, that should set my heart on its track for the day.  It must be God and His word that direct my mind and my heart, my thoughts and my emotions.  He is steadfast and unchanging.  And He alone is where my worth is anchored.