So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.
1 Corinthians 10:31

Do you make your bed every day?

In Chile, where I grew up, domestic help was common and affordable; our amazing Juanita, who worked for my family for over 30 years, always kept our house spotless. During my childhood, order and tidiness were a way of life. Shiny hardwood floors, spotless bathrooms, laundry that was washed and put away on the same day, and never a spider web in sight—all this— dominated the landscape of my home. 

My dad’s continued, unsuccessful efforts to make me get my own mess under control should have been a clue of things to come. I was so spoiled. With no true deterrent, I made no effort to change my ways, at least not consistently. Juanita still cleaned up my room, and made my bed every single day. Like I said, I was spoiled.  

After growing up in such a pristine environment, you’d think in adulthood I would’ve wanted to maintain that lifestyle, even if it meant doing it all myself (like my siblings do). But no. My wild, messy tendencies could not be tamed. I always have and always will loathe all things cleaning from the deepest pit of my soul. I will run for hours, shop till I drop, or even prepare you a five-course meal, but please, please don’t ask me to clean up! And don’t tell me or expect me to make my bed, either. 

But about a year ago, on a strange whim, I decided to start making my bed every day. It seemed like one small, manageable task that I knew would likely bring at least a hint of a feeling of accomplishment and order into my life. I understood that most people practice this morning discipline without much of a fuss. I knew that just the thought of not making their bed made some people hyperventilate. A tidy bed must come with some sort of secret reward that I would like to experience myself. Little did I know how much a bed-making habit would teach me. The results took me by surprise. 

After making my bed consistently for just a couple of weeks, I began to realize how my unmade bed used to bring with it some harsh accusations: incomplete, insufficient, unacceptable! You are incomplete; you are insufficient; you are unacceptable! I fully owned yet unknowingly carried these accusations. Without even realizing it, I spent years under the shame of an unmade bed. I hadn’t sensed the correlation nor felt the tension building between my lack of productivity (which was reflected in my unmade bed) and my perceived sense of value.

Back then, I didn’t even notice the mess because it had become a natural part of the landscape. Ignoring it was easier than fixing it. But now, I can see how much the micro-chaos of my unmade bed housed the defeat I often felt in my soul. And how “less-than” it made me feel.

I hadn’t realized how much an unmade bed felt like a reflection of who I was as a person; how its chaos and disorder mirrored my inadequacies and shortcomings; how giving into the messiness of my unmade bed felt like I was giving into the messines in my life. So when I began to make my bed, I wasn’t expecting an unknown burden to be lifted. I wasn’t expecting joy, and a stronger sense of resolve and purpose. I hadn’t understood the importance of tangible peace and practical control over chaos, even at this small level.

After I started making my bed every day and noticing the positive effect it was having on me, I decided to do an experiment. I felt like I had something else to learn. There seemed to be more truth hiding under those sheets. So as part of my new routine, I established a rule that once a week, I would not make my bed on purpose. For that one day (I chose Sunday), I wanted to return back to the chaos. I wanted to see how I felt about it. 

At first, returning to the mess made me cringe. Chaos greeted me once again, and on full display, mocking the apparent control and order I tried to maintain during the week. I mourned the loss of perfection. 

The return of discomfort clued me in on the fact that I needed a shift in perspective. And I came to the conclusion that if I banned my unmade bed from accusing me, then I could not allow a made bed to redeem me. From now on, neither choice was allowed to dictate my value.  

Now I make my bed every day except Sunday. It gives me pleasure to see order, and I enjoy the fruit of my labor and the outward reflection of what discipline can accomplish. It is work that I do for pleasure, not as a means to be a better person or to prove to myself that I am now a disciplined person. 

I enjoy the privilege and joy that comes from participating in the gift of work. I am rewarded with great satisfaction that leads to worship. Through this very small act of making my bed, I’m reminded that my work is an act of thanksgiving, not an act of manipulation. 

When I don’t make my bed on Sunday, I am symbolically giving up all that I try to control in my life. I stop creating order. In this small, tangible way, I am reminding myself that indeed, I am incapable of keeping it together on my own, and I can’t control everything that I wish I could control in my life. The micro-chaos purposefully reminds me that even when my life looks or feels messy, I’m still loved. I’m accepted in the mess. God rejoices over me even in the mess. 

In the mess, whether it be contained in my bed, or it be a larger issue in my life, I declare to God: You make me complete. You are my stability and security. You accept me and give me purpose. You are the one who is really in control. When I look at my unmade bed, I say, “I trust you, Lord.”

When I enter into disorder, I pray for peace. I invite God to provide for me. I don’t sigh and think about my lack, but instead I rejoice and thank God for His work in my life. 

Do you make your bed every day?