Homely Tasks

I sank down beside him on the couch Sunday night with my notebook and a pen. I was so smug about making a to-do list for Monday. Anything special you'd like me to add?

Him: Yeah, why don't you clean the house.
Me: Sure, and I'll dig a pool in the backyard with a spoon too!

I saw red. He had no idea that seven little words would ignite such fury in me.

You see, I thought my little list was showing some responsibility. I thought he'd be proud of my efforts.... Nah, all he really wants is a clean house. He's only lived in a dirty one for fourteen years.

I went from seething to stone silence and he just looked confused. Under all this molten lava lies a whole lot of shame. The kind of shame that makes your knees buckle, the kind that makes you grab your keys and run, the kind of shame that convinces you that you'll never be any better.

I threw the notebook against that wall and it's still stuck wherever it landed.

Our house is no cleaner, but the air is cleared. He loves me. Thank God, that man loves me!

It's 1:35 in the morning and I'm listening to his socks and underwear rumble in the dryer, that's love too.
I have so far to go....

I just read Stepping Heavenward  by Elizabeth Prentiss. If I've ever heard the Lord shouting in my ear... it's been this week.

"Suppose then you content yourself for the present with doing in a faithful, quiet, persistent way all the little, homely tasks that return with each returning day, each one as unto God, and perhaps by and by you will thus have gained strength for a more heroic life." ~ Mrs. Cabot