“Putting dishes in the sink is not cleaning them!”
“Soaking dishes is NOT cleaning them!”
“Putting dishes in a neat stack is NOT cleaning them!”
Each sentence in and of itself is innocuous. A true statement.
But, when spewed through gritted teeth with a venom-carved tone, it seeks to kill. Thankfully, its intended target was already at church preparing for service. I was alone (with the exception of my movie-watching-eight-year-old) ranting my frustrations to a person-empty, dish-full kitchen– yet again. At least I thought I was alone.
Quick interjection: We have a rhythm in in our home. When Jason cooks, I clean. When I cook, I clean.
Normally, I don’t mind that seemingly unbalanced arrangement because, quite frankly, I don’t like cooking. So if he lovingly steps into that role, I am more than happy to clean up afterwards. Plus, he works a full time job as an AC salesman and a part time job as a worship pastor, so who am I to complain? AND he enjoys cooking, so the whole family benefits from his passion.
So why was I upset this time? The holidays.
Kids were home. Parties to go to. Cookies for Santa. Entertaining. All of which meant the preparation and consumption of food over and over again. I was cleaning the kitchen four to five times a day. Some of these were messes of my own making, but not the lion’s share. Those were from the men of the house. Not all were from prepping food either. A lot were just dishes and cups left in the living room or near/in the sink to “soak” after I had already cleaned the kitchen. Thus, a nest of resentment began to harbour inside of me– mostly based on my own self-talk that said, “They have no respect for me, they don’t care about my health (I have a tear in my shoulder from catching Eli from falling off his bike)…”
This was the basis for my mini meltdown.
When I was scraping baked-on split pea soup off the very heavy crock pot that my husband had promised to clean, I was at the pinnacle of my tirade. It was then that I heard a very familiar voice speak to me.
He understood my frustrations. He voiced the same complaints.
Empty promises. Lack of follow-through. Things neatly stacked, but not dealt with. Things soaking, but not being scraped off.
I didn’t invite God into the conversation. I was upset and hurt and wanted to “soak” in my frustrations. But He came anyway. Love does that.
He quite firmly reminded me, like my family, that I often do not get dishpan hands, that I deal with things in my own heart/attitudes by placing them out of sight, instead of going through the process of scraping off the sins and harmful patterns that have become “baked-on” to my soul.
Since that unsought– and maybe even momentarily unwelcomed– but ultimately appreciated chat with the Father, I’ve had many reminders of my need to “clean the dishes.”
My pastor has spoken often about a “word” that God gives him for the year. Last year his word was boundaries. Being somewhat stubborn, I didn’t want to pray about having a word for that year. But on New Year’s Eve, my best friend and her husband (who also pray for a word each year) asked me if I had one. Again, I didn’t want to ask for one. Partly out of stubbornness towards anything prescribed, but also out of fear that I may not hear from God, but instead make one up… like chocolate. Nonetheless, on the way back from Publix the next day, God dropped one on me. Frankly, He can have it back. I don’t like it.
Die.
“Um…..clarification, please. Is this a spiritual death thing or do I need to prep for a physical death?” Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to that yet. I suppose I need to focus in on the former rather than the latter. The first prepares me for the second.
Romans 6:11
In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus.
It’s not just junk actions that pile up in my sink, but also twisted attitudes and thinking; thought patterns that rot like food waste pushed in the disposal but never “put to death.” Instead, it sits as an invitation to bacteria, growing and infecting.
My bitter and wrong thinking would have infected our marriage if it would have made contact with Jason.
Thank You, Father. You intervened before I let my emotions take lead.
Friends, this new year all sorts of people are going to tell you to change. It’s a “fresh start.” But what generally happens? We fall back to our old habits. (Personally I want to go back to a month ago where my FB feed was full of happy people–even the fit ones–eating cookies.)
And why does change rarely happen? Because… we don’t have dishpan hands.
Put on some jams, that comfy pair of socks you got in your stocking a few weeks ago, and do some scrubbing. Make the time for repentance, reflection and communion– for hope and humility. Make room for the fresh; an open plate of a soul that God will fill with the fullness and vibrance of what He wills this year.
