There is a piece of paper from one of the boys’ notebooks, the kind that comes out of spiral notebook when you tear a page out. It is on the rug by the front door. It is taunting me. It has been there for, well, let’s just say several days. I pass by this piece of paper, oh, about 20 times a day. And every time I pass, I look down and see it, just sitting there. But not just sitting there quietly and unobtrusively like all the other unexplained bits of life on the floor. This piece of paper is white and screams “Look! At! Me! Pick me up! I won’t be ignored!” I’m telling you this little scrap of nothing is like a bully on the playground that just taunts you until you want to dig a hole for yourself in the sandbox.
You would think that I would just bend over and pick it up and throw it out the front door, or put it in my pocket or even eat it, just to relieve myself of the mental torture of being taunted by something so insignificant. But no, I don’t, because I can’t. That obnoxious piece of paper represents all the little details in my life and household that remain bothersome and undone. If I give attention to that piece of paper then all the other bits of minutiae in my life will start causing trouble and wanting attention too. It would be like opening Pandora’s box, so best to just leave it alone.
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I just put a bunch of that stuff into my pocket 10 minutes ago. Of course my paper was not a metaphor or anything, but I understand the important role that bit of paper is playing in your life.
I thought for sure you were going to say you are waiting for someone else to notice it and pick it up and that it wouldn't matter how long you wait, no one else will touch it with a 10 foot pole. That is how things are at my house.
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