Thank God for Dirty Laundry

When there's no getting to the bottom of the children's argument, when he says this and she says that, when all my cross-examinations cannot find a satisfactory answer as to who started the fight that ended in screaming and shoving and name-calling . . . thank God for dirty laundry.

I can gather all the hampers from the bedrooms and dump them out on the wooden floors. I can sort whites with whites and towels with towels. I can shove each pile into a basket and carry them out to the washing machine where I push some buttons and dump in some soap and Viola! Clean laundry. Thank God for dirty laundry to sort out. 

When my friends' troubles seem too big for me to make better, when all their choices seem to take them to undesirable ends, when I don't know what they ought to do, or how they'll get through this . . . thank God for unmade beds.

Thank God for those hundred-count bed sheets that tuck securely beneath the mattress so that I can pull them taut and straight so that not a wrinkle shows. Or I can dump all those used sheets into the laundry hamper and start afresh with clean sheets: from the fitted-sheet to the pillow cases. And when the bed is made I'll know I've left the bed better than when I found it. Thank God for beds to make.

When the government is in a mess, and I don't know who to listen to or who to trust, when the news is all bad and I'm so uncertain of people's motives that I hardly know how to see through it all . . . thank God for smudged windows.

With my Windex and yesterdays newspaper ads and a little elbow grease, I can rub those fingerprints right off each pane. I can dust the sills and wipe away the cobwebs until those windows are a picture of clarity. Then in the mornings and evenings when the sun shows off all their imperfections, I can look straight through them at the pink streaked skies. Thank God for windows with smudges.

When I can't understand why I'm so upset about a fairly simple thing, when I'm fuming because of something that other people seem to handle quite calmly . . . thank God for trashcans to empty. 

Thank God that I have the strength and the ability to lift the bags right out of their bins and haul them into the alley where the trashcans contain their smell and filth until the trash trucks haul them away. I can hose down the interior of the household bins before putting clean bags inside. And as quickly and simply as that, all the trash has left the house. Thank God for trash to take out.

When my heart hurts too much for the sorrows it hears on the news, when I can't bear to hear my children's woes that they tell me after school, when relationships have been severed and I can't even begin to understand how they will be repaired . . . thank God for meals to make.

I can open my fridge and pull out the butter and milk and yeast. I can throw all the ingredients into my bread maker and four hours later the house will be filled with the delightful aroma of freshly baked bread. Or I can grab all the leftovers in tupperwares and combine them in a broth with some mirepoix and garlic and thyme from the garden and serve it up in deep bowls to my hungry family. I can sit contentedly and watch them eat what I made and know that afterwards, they will be full. Thank God for meals to make.

All these chores I can do while talking to the one who can sort out the children's arguments and smooth my friends' troubles and see through the government's agenda and know how to take out my emotional garbage and can give eternal food to the hungry and hurting. He has given me the ability and strength to rule this little domain of mine; I will trust him to rule his.