Ok. I’m now in Level 2 of “How to Unload the Dishwasher by Faith,” where the glasses that are a bit too heavy for small hands come at me twice as quickly and creative little tots try to climb on the dishwasher door so they have better access to the top rack.
I have eager little helpers refolding and resorting the laundry that I am trying to fold at the same time.
I’m ankle deep in water trying to run. I had no idea basic house maintenance would come with so much resistance.
I gave up making to do lists because the bulk of my work does’t exist when I make the list. I have no idea when I wake up that I will need to put all the books back on my bookcase that someone will relocated under the sheets of my bed that I just made in a couple of hours.
And there is this great temptation to quit running. It doesn’t seem like I’m getting very far and it’s sure a lot more work than standing on the beach, admiring the ocean. I want to spiritualize my work and pretend that none of this labor has anything to do with my heart. I want to pretend that making dinner again is completely unrelated to love. But that’s not the story of the gospel.
The gospel is physical. “The word became flesh.” “He himself bore or sins in his body on the cross.” It is no use pretending that my work is something separate, that I can love God and love my little people without getting tired, without dying.
I fold the laundry. My patience is tried. I fight for joy. It doesn’t always seems spiritual. I fight to see that there is something bigger here than everything they dropped as they found a better location for the newly folded clothes. I ask God for strength and grace. I run against the water. And we laugh because there is sure victory for my impatient heart even if the clothes don’t make it to the dresser in neat piles.
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