When your laundry basket tells the real story….

I did laundry.  I washed it. I dried it.  I folded it.  After all of that, I actually looked at it.  I realized that my laundry was saying something about my life.  The basket was a little more than half full but it had only two things in it- underwear and pajamas.  Now if I was married and that basket was full of lacy-racy underwear and lingerie, I would say- “Yay, me!”  But I’m not, and it wasn’t.  The pitiful little pile in my laundry basket got me thinking about how my laundry actually says a lot…how it tells a story.

When my children were younger I did laundry every day…seriously…at least one load every.single.darn.day.  The habit started when they were babies, but not because I was a clean freak.  I’m neat but germs are not really something I worry too much about.  The habit didn’t start because I was afraid a stain might set in on their pristine white clothes.  Let’s be real…I have boys- who in their right mind puts white on boys in the first place?! 

The laundry habit- at that point- was about one thing- necessity.  I didn’t have a ton of clothes, my husband didn’t have a ton of clothes, and my boys…you get the point.  The laundry was about staying on top of whether or not everyone had something to put on their bodies when they left the house. 

As my kids got a little older, the habit of doing a load or more every day continued, but for a different reason.  By the time they were in elementary school and on, having enough was not an issue.  We had plenty.  I had more than plenty- my closet looked more like TJMaxx than an exclusive boutique, but none the less, there was plenty.

The laundry habit had become about staying on top of the mess more than anything.  With kids wearing uniforms to school, changing for extracurricular activities, and then changing again into their “comfortable” home clothes, the pile never ended.  My husband’s ever growing pile of work out clothes didn’t help my cause either.  

Somewhere near the end of the boys’ elementary years, they took on the job of doing their own laundry. Both boys were indoctrinated into the fine art of sorting, knowing how to set the water level and temp on the washer, how much detergent to use, and just how long to dry a pair of pants before they shrink. 

I’d given the chore away, but yet I found myself still washing something every day.  It wasn’t their clothes, it wasn’t my husband’s…he was gone from our lives by this point.  And honestly- I didn’t dirty up too much.  I washed whatever I could get my hands on.  This time the laundry job was about control.  I needed to control something. I couldn’t control the fact that my marriage had ended.  I couldn’t control the heartbreaking reality that I was now a single mom of two preteen boys.  I couldn’t control that I had no choice but to sell my dream home.  But I could control the level in my laundry basket and so I did.  No towel, pair of socks, or a single pair of underwear was safe.  I was going to empty the baskets every night.  I couldn’t control them filling up again, but for a few short hours, I was in control…of something. 

Seven years later, I still do laundry…but now only once- maybe twice a week.  I no longer feel the need to control the basket.  Now a skeptic of my view of the basket could say that’s because one boy is off to college, and the other- he does his own.  Some may think that I am so advanced at this point that I dry clean or send my laundry out every week.  Seriously?!  Who am I- Jennifer Anniston?!  (Or-fill in the blank with your favorite celebrity)  I’ve always wondered who does the laundry of the stars.  Anyway…

I’m not advanced.  I don’t even own anything that has to be dry-cleaned!  The laundry basket does tell a story for me.  The story may be a puzzling one at times…like the day with only pajamas and underwear.  (What did I do all week?!)  

Yep, the story has changed over time, and in less than a year it will change again when I send my youngest off to college.  My laundry basket will never be completely empty because somehow that would mean my life is a little empty too.  I say with all the sincerity in my heart- I have a full basket because I have a full life.  That is the story it’s telling now, and it’s my favorite one so far.

Got Milk?
Don’t you hate it when you have the taste for something only to discover that what you’ve just put in your mouth is not it?  You know what I mean…your mind thinks you’re about to take a swig of some sweet iced tea, but you’ve somehow forgotten in the passing 30 seconds after your last sip that you do not have a glass of tea in front  of you.  You have a plain glass of water instead.  What a disappointment.  My taste buds may not be sophisticated enough to know the difference between a Pinot Noir or a Merlot – unless my eyes have also seen the label- but they certainly are not so dumb as to confuse water with sweet tea.

Is it possible that this brain to taste conundrum also happens for us spiritually and emotionally?  After a personal experience this week, I think it is.  Two times in Scripture there is talk of milk vs. solid food (1 Corinthians 3 and Hebrews 5).  Both references seem to come with – dare I say it- a slight bit of sarcasm attached.  Not that the Lord is sarcastic- He is as straight forward as they come, but because both references are corrections to the Church (credited to the Apostle Paul)- there is that hint of “you should know better.” 

While I expected solid food this week, the Lord was quick to remind me that sometimes what I really need is milk.  Was it for correction?  Maybe.  Was it a good reminder?  For sure.

First, let me be honest (this is Straight Talk after all)…
I’ve been complaining lately.  I’ve been complaining a lot lately.  I’ve complained about my job.  I’ve complained about my job.  I’ve complained about my job.  And…I’ve complained about my job.  Yep, there is a theme, and it’s not a good one. 

The complaining has been about the work load, the pay, the idea that I’m underappreciated…you name it, and I had a complaint.  I’ve worn out pages in my journal as well as my friends’ ears.  I know now that the Lord got pretty tired of it all too because He got busy pouring me a big glass of milk.

In the midst of planning a lesson for some children, I was the one who got the lesson.  It was Labor Day weekend, so what better to talk about than work; working with all our heart- working for the Lord, not for men.  (Colossians 3:23) 

This was so easy; it was going to write itself.  I would talk about chores, work, and how we all have things we have to do- some we don’t mind, and others we hate. I would talk about how we’re willing to do some things for free and others only for a price.  I would give great kid-friendly examples.  After all the building up, I would hit them with the verse from Colossians.  To drive it home I’d tell them the story of Nehemiah rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem.  Easy.   

Lesson- written.  Materials- ready.  Then…the night before I was going to teach, as I was reviewing the lesson, the verse, my examples, and the follow up games, God was taking out that gallon of milk and starting to pour.  The more I reviewed, the more I realized this lesson may be for the children, but it was also for me. 

Colossians 3:23 – “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men…”

Every time I read it, the emphasis landed on “Whatever.”  The glass of milk was filling up – quickly.  Whatever you do…whatever you do…whatever you do.  It doesn’t matter if it’s something you like or not. It doesn’t matter if you get paid or not.  It doesn’t matter if you get a trophy or even a simple pat on the back.  Whatever you do…whatever you do…whatever you do.  Milk, milk, milk. 

I swallowed my milk in big gulps, and I actually enjoyed it.  The funny thing is- I don’t like milk.  I actually really despise milk.  (It all goes back to drinking it warm at dinner as a kid- but that’s a different story) 

So, why did something I dislike so much go down so well?  Because my God not only corrects me, He also knows and loves me.  Knowing I’d have a hard time swallowing milk, God put some delicious chocolate syrup in it for me.  God sweetened this correction with a promise. 

Colossians 3:23 continues into verse 24 this way…
“…since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.” 

I got milk and it was good! 

This is the day...

Psalm 118:24 says: "This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it."

I've been struggling with this verse this week.  By struggling, I mean I've been playing tug-of-war with it. Despite the fact that just saying it will illicit and automatic urge to clap my hands and sing it (my former Sunday school teacher- Miss Grace- would be so happy), I’m still tugging at its very meaning.  

I think for many years- and rightfully so- I've seen this verse as a reminder that every single day that God gives us is a gift.  He thought it worthy of the sunrise and sunset, so there must be a reason to rejoice.

In this very thought is where my struggle lies…because some days- let’s be real- just don’t seem like a gift at all. 

For instance, 9/11 is a day that for many will bring nothing but bad memories.  That day will always be recognized as the day thousands of lives were changed.
Another example is the day of a shooting in a movie theater just last week.  How are the families affected by that supposed to ever think of that day as a gift?

The list could go on and on for us as a nation.  And…what about all those individuals all over the world? The ones who remember every year when their loved one died, when their house burned down, when they lost their job, etc…

Again, herein lies the tug of war against my own heart and ultimately against the very meaning of this Psalm. 

I’m having a hard time with one specific day.  It’s a day that comes every year.  A day I will always remember with great joy and at the same time, great pain.  How is it that God can make one day be both a person’s best day and their worst day?  Maybe those two ideas are on the ends of this imaginary tug-of-war rope. 

August 5^th is the day I struggle with every year.  It is one of my best days ever because my son was born.  It is also one of my worst days ever because it is the day I discovered my husband was having an affair, and that my marriage was over.  To add insult to injury, this is also the day that my church (a church I helped start) opened its doors for the first time. 

Every August 5^th is hard, but this year it’s more difficult than normal.  We will ‘celebrate’ 5 years to the day that we opened our doors.  My heart will at once rejoice and be broken.

A dear friend prayed with me about my “august 5^th  issue."  I thought it revealing and remarkable that she brought up the story of Lazarus during our prayer time together.  As she spoke of Lazarus’ resurrection, she pointed out that the day was about death, but also life.

This got me to thinking…Lazarus- as well as his friends and family- had to experience death so that they could then experience life.  In the literal sense, Lazarus went from death to life, but for us this story is an example of the offer to experience Jesus’ life-giving redemption.  We can’t be redeemed or given new life if we don’t first die in some way. 
This is not to say -by any stretch of the imagination- that I’m glad my marriage died a horrific death, but I am grateful for the redeeming love that my Jesus has shown me since that death.  Many things died in me that fateful day; however, nothing died in me that cannot be redeemed by God.

My “day of dread” is no different than any other day.  Everyone has a day they wish had never happened.  Everyone has a day so great they wish they could live it over and over again.  Sometimes our day of sadness is also our day of joy. Our saddest day is always someone else’s greatest day, and vise-versa.   

Isn’t this the mystery and greatness of our God?  He can and does create every day- the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Some of those days will be easy to rejoice in, and others won’t.  I guess the best we can do is remember the fact that any day-good or bad- has only 24 hours, and that every new day brings a new abundance of God’s grace and mercy. 

Maybe in that thought, my tug of war will cease to exist.  God’s grace and mercies are new every morning. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

A Psalm started the tug, but a Lamentation will end it. There is irony there somewhere….

Moving Toward

Day 8 of 40

I continue my vertical venting, but am determined today to move forward somehow.  This determination is more than just moving forward, it’s about moving toward.  I feel a renewed desire to move toward God –which is progress on some level. 

As I wrote about David’s Psalms yesterday, I was reminded that his praise- in the midst of his sorrow, loneliness, frustration, and even anger -kept him moving toward God.  At the same time he was running from Saul, he was running toward God. 

In the deepest recesses of my heart, I still want to move toward God, but I find that I’ve quit trying. I find that I’m neither running from anything or toward anything.  This is the whole idea of that middle ground again, and the being stuck.  I’m standing still and where I’m standing feels like quick sand.

I ask myself why this is so.  What I’m really doing is asking God to reveal my own heart to me. I’ve found it- I stopped running toward Him, because I’m tired.  I want someone to run toward me for a while.  I want someone to pursue me- instead of me pursuing them.  I want to be still and let someone else do the work.  So the get real moment is this- I’ve stopped pursuing God because I feel He’s stop pursuing me. 

There is no deeper loneliness than the lonely you feel when you realize if you disappeared no one would notice.  This is how I feel most every day.  I know in my head it’s not true, but I sometimes wonder if I never called, if I never emailed, if I never pursued my family or my friends…would they notice? 

I think these thoughts come from the unhealed portions of my heart – broken by being cast aside and abandoned by the one person I thought loved me most.  I find that just writing that makes me cry all over again.  This five year old pain, if I let it take hold, is still as real as it was the first day. 

I want to run from that pain and run toward something else.  I want to run toward God, but my feet don’t move.  I need Him to come and get me.  I need Him to walk toward me, scoop me up, and carry me away from the past. 

I’m not sure God does it that way.  Maybe telling Him I need it is indeed taking a step toward Him.  If that is so, then I’ve taken a step…a baby step is better than no step at all.

Vertical Venting

Day 7 of 40

As I sat at a table with my co-workers I began to complain or as I like to call it- vent.  It’s the same thing but saying I’m ‘venting’ rather than complaining makes me feel better somehow.  Complaining is reserved for those who are negative by nature, and in some cases are just plain bitter.  I refuse to think I am either so therefore what I do is not complaining, but venting.

So, as I began the course of my venting, I stopped myself mid-sentence.  I remembered that this 40 days to a better me is about not complaining- I mean venting- to anyone but God.  I apologized to those at the table, and explained by 40 day commitment to get it all out- to no one in particular, except God.  I further explained that He knows how I feel anyway, so why not get it off my chest…AND- since He’s the only One who can fix my problems, I might as well stop wasting time and go directly to the source.   

They understood- and I’m sure on some level were relieved to know that they were no longer responsible for listening to my vent attacks. 

Then, in a moment of creative genius, my boss said- you should call this time of cleansing “Vertical Venting- Modern Day Psalms.”  I loved it.  (Wish I had thought of it)  If I ever write a book, I’ll give him credit. 

But, here is the question on Psalms…when David wrote the Psalms it was mainly out of his frustration as being named king but then being persecuted – and even chased with death in mind- by the current king Saul.  So, if David’s laments came from his life situation, where is mine coming from?  Is it baggage still left from the divorce, is it because I find myself at a mid-life crisis point, is it that I’m at a mid-faith crisis point, is it because I’m just going through the motions…or is it all of the above?

During the months- which turned into over a year- of my marriage falling apart, I went to the Psalms of David often.  I found that in the midst of his honesty in how he felt – forgotten by God- he also rallied back and praised God even when he didn’t feel like it.  When his world was crumbling all around him, he still found the fortitude to keep moving in the direction of God. 

I’m not sure psalms are what I’m writing…at least not yet.  I am most certainly doing some vertical venting with an emphasis on the lamenting.  Maybe- unlike David- I can’t begin to find the desire to praise in the midst of the lamenting…at least not yet.  Each of David’s Psalms started off with the lamenting and had praise sprinkled in or ended beautifully with it.  Maybe my Psalm just isn’t finished yet. 

I remember I gave a talk once after the horrible earthquake in Haiti on this very topic.  My key point was- “Cry out instead of cry, and worship instead of worry.”  It is words like this- from my own mouth- but given to me by God that I offer to others, but not to myself.    

So, for today, I will continue my vertical venting, but will dig deep (enough) to pull out some praise too. 

Father God, the One Who made me, Who never forsakes me, and Who is passionately concerned about my life, please help me see you at work today.   I know you are there, help me feel your presence.  Amen.

I Know Too Much

Day 6 of 40

There are few times in one’s life when it can be said that you know too much.  Even rocket scientists probably don’t know too much for their field of expertise.  Everyone still has more to learn about something.  So why is it that I feel I know too much for my own good? 

I’m not an expert in anything- literally.  I’m usually not one to think with my head; I’m an emotional thinker.  I make most decisions with my heart- not my head.  Even considering all of that, for the last two days I came to realize that I may know too much. 

I can’t pray – or I won’t pray.  I know that God’s Word says “When you pray…” Not if, but when.  I know I should pray.

I am worried about having enough money over the next few months. I know that God’s Word says, “Do not worry about tomorrow…”  If I’m trusting God, then I shouldn’t be worried.  I know I should trust.

I feel as if God isn’t paying attention to what is going on in my life.  I know God’s Word says that He “never forsakes” me.  If I believe God cares then I know He is paying attention.  I know I should believe He is with me always.

I know too much.  When I can’t pray, when I worry, and when I feel alone…I also feel tremendous guilt.  Something else I know is that I am responsible for all these things I know.

My feelings have pushed my head to take charge. My heart has stopped leading the way.  

I don’t know too much…just enough to ask the Lord to get me back on track. 

The Questions

Day 5 of 40

Today all I can do is ask questions; questions for which I have no answers.  Questions that seem to put me farther down the road to even more questions.