A Very Common Problem
Continuing my series on problem sins, with a light touch
Frederick (Freddie to his friends) lounged lazily on his beat-up old sofa. It was pea-green and clashed violently with Freddie’s purple rug. (Yes, purple. He got it for a very good price at the local thrift store.) Freddie stretched luxuriously and yawned. A perfect Saturday for doing nothing in particular. His murder mystery lay spread-eagled beside him on the couch, and his Apple computer was on the coffee table, a coffee cup and a dirty plate on top of it.
To put it bluntly, Freddie’s place was a mess. His friends had stopped wanting to come over, and any woman who saw the place shuddered and left, including his mother and sisters.
It’s no big deal, Freddie thought. C.S. Lewis and his friends used to drop their cigar ash on the rug! I don’t do that. And I am not a hoarder. I take out the garbage every two weeks, and wash my clothes instead of buying new ones. I only have one cat, and I pay my bills as soon as I find them.
It did bother him that no woman would set foot in his place. It shut down his dating life pretty thoroughly. Things could be going well—Freddie was an entertaining companion, and actually cleaned up well. But by the fourth or fifth date, when they asked to see his place, it was all over. No woman wanted to take that on.
He knew all this intellectually, but he still spent most of his day trolling the internet or playing games. He was stuck. This was his habitual pattern. He even dawdled at work, but his capacity was so large and his work so original that his bosses put up with it.
Somebody had to put the fear of God into him. Freddie suffered from sloth. He completely lacked discipline until it mattered to him.
His guardian angel decided to wage a war against this besetting sin." “I know,” he thought, “I will scare him.” That night Freddie had a horrible nightmare. It seemed he was taken to hell, and shown all the poor souls there, who were doomed to clean their rooms forever, with no break, no Nintendo, no snacks, no time to even sit down. The rooms would turn to a shambles behind them as they cleaned.
Then a voice spoke behind him. “These souls thought that sloth was not serious. They were wrong. They did not take care of the things put into their care. They were wasteful. Some of them even spent their days writing stories on Substack rather than cleaning their house. They thought their own pleasure mattered more than their duty. Freddie, no one takes a slob seriously. That means you cannot fulfill your purpose in life. If that happens, by your laziness you will have cheated every man, woman, and child of the things you are meant to do.
“You have time, if you start right away. You are still young.”
“What must I do?” pleaded Freddie.
“Start small. Start by getting out of bed on time. Get dressed and make your bed. Do that until it is a habit. Make a list of tasks. Then choose one task and do it until it is a habit. Ask a friend to hold you accountable for each task as you go. They will be happy to do so.
“Be disciplined. Make yourself wait for things you want. Or let life do that for you. Delay gratification. Plan for the future. Set goals.
“You will begin to feel happy about your accomplishments. Invite your mother over. Watch her reaction. If she smiles at you, you have done a good job.
“Oh, and let her help you pick out some new furniture.”
The angel stood before him suddenly, clothed in brilliant white and shod with gold. He smiled and winked.
“Now go, live your destiny. You will need discipline and charity to carry it out.”
“What is my destiny?” Freddie managed to ask.
“That depends on you. But Father Frederick has a nice ring to it.” The angel winked again and disappeared. Freddie woke up.
“Wow. I better not sleep on* this,” he said, hoisting himself out of bed.
*For anyone over 40, sleep on is Gen Z slang for undervaluing something
Other stories:
Father Vincent and the Startled Monk
Suggestions for other sins to write about? Tell me in the comments down below. Maybe gossip?