Heaven is for Hoarders

When I began my business as a home organizer, I decided to decline any requests from hoarders. I’m simply not qualified. Hoarding is classed as a mental illness and there are professionals who are extensively trained to help with this disorder. But a few week’s ago, I received a voice message from a woman whose best friend had recently passed away. Before she died she had asked this friend to get some help for her son (a level 3 hoarder).

I explained that I’d be willing to meet with Sam (not his real name) but told her that it was unlikely that he would be willing to have me come into his apartment.

Sure enough, on the appointed day, I knocked on his door. And knocked and knocked. I could hear Sam playing with the lock on the other side of the door, so I knew he was home. Finally, after 5 minutes of me continuously calling out and knocking, he opened the door and snarled, “Go away!”

So I headed back toward the elevator. Then something rose up inside me. I turned around, walked up to Sam who was still standing in his doorway.

“Okay, Sam. I’ll leave. But I just want you to know that your mom wanted me to come. I’ll also be charging you for this visit because you’d agreed to this meeting.”

With that, the door opened a bit wider.

“You’ll be sorry”, he said.

And I did feel sorry. because I learned that for the 5 years he’d rented this apartment, Sam had not washed a dish (indeed he only had 1 unusable plate). He ate from the dented pot or straight from cans. The floor was his garbage pail where hundreds of empty packages of cigarettes, pizza boxes, empty 2 litre bottles of pop, mounds of mouldering clothes, hundreds of DVD’s and broken furniture were piled. The bathtub was filled with garbage and broken glass; the shower head, unusable. A new mattress delivered from his mom’s home slumped despondently against the greasy, nicotine stained wall but removing his old mattress from the bedroom would only be possible if I could clear a path for the junk removal company to get to it. So I got my snow shovel and went to work. It took 3 days of filling garbage bags to see the floor.

By the grace of God, I did not see one ant, cockroach, mouse dropping, or bed bug!

All the while, Sam sat in his chair holding his hookah pipe and stared.

Over and over, he asked, “Why are you here?”

My answer was always the same.

“You are made in the image of God and we love you.”

His answer was always the same.

“Bullshit.”

I have no illusions of Sam ever changing. I’m sure that the floor will remain his garbage pail, and he’ll continue to bathe in the clogged bathroom sink and that he will never be entertaining any guests.

But the miracle was that for 3 days, he had entertained my presence in his home. The etymology of “entertain” is “to make space for” or “to show hospitality”.

As I said my final goodbye, Sam muttered, “Just a minute” and got up from his chair, went into the kitchen and came back with a water bottle in his hand.

“It’s the least I can do”, he said, holding out the bottle.

The moment my fingers grasped it, something happened and my whole body was flooded with unspeakable joy.

The very next day, I read Jesus’ words,

“Anyone who gives you a cup of water because you belong to Christ will certainly not lose his reward.”

“Ah, Sam”, I thought to myself, “Hang in there. The best is yet to come!”

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