Wrangler Dani

When we were moving into our new apartment, boxes were exploding all over the house, crumpled paper littered our new carpet and questions were coming from every direction: does this item go into storage? In the house? In a cupboard? What do you want to do with this bowl/book/pan/trinket?

After a week of moving out, driving north and moving in, I didn’t want to answer those questions or think about anything. All I wanted to do was to wash dishes. It wasn’t necessary or sensible, but it sounded therapeutic and normal. I wanted to take a soapy sponge to something and see it transform from neglected and dirty to sparkling and ready for a new culinary adventure. Washing dishes and doing laundry both make me feel accomplished – the hum of the washing machine or the sight of an empty sink give me a feeling of settled-ness, like my little house is in order and my world is all right.

I was thinking about washing dishes and doing laundry this morning, because I am frustrated and ungrateful and yearning for more – and I am in need of the worship captured in a clean plate or folded underwear. I need to engage in seemingly small acts of faithfulness and kindness to keep my heart on course and my mind from wallowing.

The hard truth is that I don’t know how long it will take to accomplish the dream of a house and kidlets and everything I hope for. The harder truth is that none of those dreams are promised to me, as tough as that is to admit. So what am I doing while we wait in the desert, yearning for the Promised Land?

I think there’s more to washing dishes and doing laundry than simple cleanliness – it’s an act of hope, of worship, of steadfast faith. I believe that I should serve and clean and and work and write and enjoy because I believe that it’s going to get better. I believe that God is good. I believe that my dreams are not unfounded. I believe that the future is worth washing my good glassware for, and wearing a freshly-washed skirt to celebrate.