Nowhere To Put A Cup Down

You stood there holding it and looking.

You had made it, and you turned round, and there was the counter and the table and the little shelf by the door, and every one of them had something on it, and none of the somethings could be moved without moving something else first.

You held that cup for about eight seconds, turning slightly.

In the end it went on the edge of the draining board, at an angle, and you were slightly aware of it there for the next hour.

That is the whole subject of this article, and it is smaller than everything else on this site and it may be the one that changes the most.

There is nowhere in that house to put a cup down.

Not because you have too much. This article is not about how much you have and it is not going to suggest that you have too much of anything. It is that every horizontal surface in that house is doing a job. Each one is holding something that is on its way somewhere, or that lives there now, or that has no other home.

Nothing is spare.

And a house with nothing spare has a particular feeling that you have not named, and I think it is worth naming, because you have been describing yourself as tired for about a year and I do not think tired is quite it.

There is nowhere to set anything down. Including you.

This is the last article on this site, and it is not a conclusion or a summing up. It is one small thing, and it is the one I would give you if I could only give you one.

He brought me forth into a large place

There is a line in the eighteenth psalm about being rescued, and what he was rescued into is the surprise.

He brought me forth also into a large place; he delivered me, because he delighted in me. (Psalm 18:19, King James Version)

He brought me forth also into a large place.

David has been describing being surrounded. Enemies too strong, the cords of death, distress on every side, a man pressed in from all directions with no room to move.

And when the rescue comes, what it consists of is space.

Not victory, in that verse. Not resources, not an answer, not the enemy destroyed. He brought me forth into a large place. The deliverance is described as room, and the psalm treats room as sufficient description of what being saved felt like.

That is worth sitting with, because we would not usually reach for it. Ask most people what rescue looks like and they will describe getting something. This says: I was closed in on every side, and He brought me out into somewhere with space in it.

And notice the reason given at the end, because it settles the whole thing: he delivered me, because he delighted in me.

Not because David had earned the space. Not because he had proved he would use it well. The room came out of delight, which means nobody had to justify it and nobody had to have a plan for what to do with it.

Space, given, for no other reason than that somebody was pleased with him.

So there is a picture in scripture of God's kindness looking exactly like room, and no productive use is attached to it anywhere.

God's kindness is described as space and not as an acquisition, and room has never once had to be earned or justified. Psalm 18:19 brings a man forth into a large place out of pure delight, and the Holy Spirit is the one present with somebody standing in a kitchen holding a cup.

Empty is a use

Here is the practical half, and it is one idea.

Emptiness is not waste.

That is the belief underneath a house with no spare surface, and it is so ordinary that nobody ever examines it. A clear space looks like a space not being used. Something could go there. And so, over years, in a hundred entirely reasonable small decisions, everything gets used, and nothing is left, and the house becomes fully occupied.

Every single one of those decisions was sensible. That is what makes this so hard to see. Nobody ever chose to have nowhere to put a cup down; it is the sum of two hundred reasonable placements.

But a surface that is holding nothing is doing a job, and it is a real one.

It is where things can happen. You cannot start anything on an occupied counter. You cannot put down a bag, help somebody with homework, unpack shopping, roll something out, or set a cup while you turn to answer a question. Space is what lets an ordinary action begin without a rearrangement first.

And there is a second job, which is the one I actually care about for you.

Your eye needs somewhere to land that is not asking for anything. Every full surface in that house is a small request. The pile says deal with me. The bag says put me away. It is very quiet and there are forty of them, and you live inside that, and there is nowhere in the building where your attention is not being asked for something.

That is closer to what has been tiring you than the work is.

One clear surface is a place in your own home that wants nothing from you.

A surface holding nothing is doing a real job, and empty has never once been the same as wasted. The written word calls the rescue a large place and attaches no use to it, and the Spirit of God is the one who is with somebody in a house where forty quiet things are asking.

One surface, empty, for a week

So here is the last assignment on this site.

Clear one surface and put nothing on it for a week.

One. And a small one is fine: the little shelf by the door, one end of the counter, the top of a chest of drawers, half the kitchen table. Choose something you see often rather than something out of the way.

Clear it. The things on it go elsewhere, anywhere, and this is not an organizing exercise so they can go into a box in another room for now.

And then, for a week, nothing goes on it.

That is the assignment and the whole difficulty is in the second half, because within about two hours somebody will put something there. Probably you. It is the obvious place, that is why it filled up in the first place.

So you will take it off. And again the next day. And you will feel slightly ridiculous defending an empty shelf.

Defend it anyway.

And here is the part I want to be firm about, because it is where this would go wrong. This is not the beginning of anything. It is not the first surface of an eventual system, and it is not a demonstration that you could do the rest. If you never clear another thing in that house, this still worked.

The space is not for a future purpose. It is there to be empty.

And use it for nothing. Do not decide that it is where the keys will live now, or where the post goes. The moment it has a function it is occupied again, and what you had was a job vacancy rather than a large place.

Let it be room. Look at it when you pass. Put a cup down on it and pick the cup up again.

And that is the last word from this site: you are allowed a space in your own home that is not doing anything, that you did not earn, and that never has to justify itself to anybody.

You are able to keep one space empty on purpose, and clear space has never once had to justify itself. Psalm 18:19 brings a man into a large place because of delight and gives it no purpose at all, and the Holy Spirit is the one present with somebody taking something off a shelf for the fourth time.