How LEGO Taught Me to Let it Go

LEGO.

The magic of those little bricks.

Endless possibility. Delightful tiny replicas. Adorably mis-proportioned accessories.

Our LEGO collection is rich and growing. We have dinosaurs and princesses, wizards and skiiers, roller coasters and the upside down. Not to mention all manners of transportation—cars and boats and motorcycles and trains and helicopters and more. This is easily our favorite family toy. Tiny bricks regularly litter the floor, and all four of us enjoy playing with them together. But when we bought our first LEGO sets for the kids, it launched a great debate. How, oh how, would all those little pieces be organized and stored?

I am of the plastic bag variety. In my childhood home, we separated out each LEGO set into its own individual ziplock, which included the appropriate instructions so that we would be able to rebuild everything exactly to specifications at a later date. All of the minifigures and their accoutrements were organized in a divider for easy access and maximum fun.

Phil is Camp Chaos. Every piece is dumped into a singular bin so that nothing is off limits to creativity. New sets are built once with the instructions and then repurposed into grander designs. Spaceship pieces find their way into Sherwood Forest. Boats are built with ice castle walls. Nothing impedes the options.

There is a third type of LEGO user out there—the one with an elaborate toolbox to separate out every brick by dots and height and color. We both agree that those people are nuts. But how would we find a common ground? Can a tidy bag lady and a free spirit actually make it work?

Perhaps this was a prime opportunity to cede to Phil’s headship in the marriage.

This was not an easy choice. While I don’t actually have OCD (my heart goes out to those with that real struggle), oh, how I love things organized neatly. I like to follow instructions and watch something come together exactly as it was designed. I want only silver paperclips in my office desk drawer. I love the feel of ironing out a seam that was perfectly sewn.

We all have various neuroses that develop through the amalgamation of family norms, culture, and our own genetic propensities. Maybe its the way you wash your vegetables or your expectations for toenail length or what goes (or doesn’t go) in the backseat of your car. Certain behaviors make you feel calm and comfortable and others raise the hair on the back of your neck.

Many of these preferences are rather harmless. They fade into the background of our identities and become the quirks that people love to hate about us and will probably someday miss when we are gone. But sometimes I have found that the oddities in my own nature turn into real stumbling blocks for my family and friends. In those cases, it’s a gift to have your crazy exposed—even if it doesn’t feel like it—because only then can you make the choice to die to your own desires in order to love someone else.

Sometimes you need to take a cue from Elsa and let it go.

And that’s how we became Team Chaos. All the LEGO, together in a tub, with the small compromise that people get their own compartment. People which get regularly disassembled and repurposed, while I try my best to spend more time building with the kids than hunting for Batman’s utility belt. And truly, the joy and creativity that this inspires for the rest of the family is well worth the low level anxiety I have about ever being able to recreate Ariel’s wedding boat.

It’s here in the seemingly silly that God powerfully demonstrates the blessings of dying to self. These small, strategic compromises can have major repercussions for those we love dearly. They reveal our priorities and grow our capacity to consider others more significant than ourselves. As we are faithful to follow God in small, everyday moments, we become more apt to trust Him with the more difficult ones.

In 1 Corinthians 10, Paul quotes a popular saying of the times, and turns it on its head—“‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things are helpful. ‘All things are lawful,’ but not all things build up.” When I see the remarkable creations that a little chaos can build, it settles me in a way that tidy cannot. And God’s blessings continue to abound. Since Phil loves me like Christ loves the church, he also let me make ziplocks for my Hogwarts sets.