Yesterday was a "toilet day."
For-Now-Mommy's-Boy was sick, on the tail end of Grown-Up-Preschool-Girl being sick, and no one had slept the night before. When he wasn't asleep he was fussy, and when he wasn't awake he wasn't sleeping. She was overtired and bored and always hungry, and I was stretched thin. Brittle.
My knight-husband was working all day and traveling that night, and I was own my own. Lunch, dinner, toys, dishes, laundry, crying, rocking, crying, "Mommy, do you want to play with me?" I didn't.
I got frustrated when she wanted to help. I had zero compassion when he cried, sick. I was too busy to stop and read a book with her. I resented having to hold him, yet again. I had no patience, no grace.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I faintly heard the whisper: Can you find the joy in this? I couldn't. I didn't. All I could see was the toilet. All I could hear were the questions, the crying, the constant demanding of my attention, my energy. I had been drained, emptied, and I did not seek that filling-up-overflowing joy.
I'm on a quest to live discovering joy in the little things, the hard things - in cleaning toilets. But some days, I just don't find it. When faced with the question, I simply choose not to.
Maybe today I'll try again.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Cleaning Toilets
I've used cleaning toilets as an example of how hard finding joy can be sometimes, but why? Why 'cleaning toilets' specifically? Couldn't I have come up with something a little less...dirty? I guess I should explain.
I grew up not being very good at doing chores. There were times in my childhood that you couldn't see the floor of my bedroom for all the clothes piled up there - and there was a lot of floor not to see. Or maybe I should more accurately say that there were times that you could see the floor, however few and far between. But despite evidence to the contrary, that was not even my least favorite chore to perform. The two chores that I hated more than any others were doing laundry (my college roommate can regale you with stories to support this claim) and, you guessed it, cleaning the bathroom.
Cleaning the toilet bowl itself isn't really my problem. In fact, that can be slightly rewarding. Growing up, we had well water and a water softener (don't know which one caused this, so I just included both), so there would be a slight amount of residue build-up where the water sat in the bowl (or a lot if I kept putting off cleaning it). So to clean it I got to simply squirt some really cool clingy gel stuff in there, do nothing for about 15 minutes (definitely a feature), use a brush specially designed to keep the dirt at arm's length, and then admire my newly white toilet bowl for the next couple of days. Now, I even get to stick a gel disc to the inside of the toilet so that every time I flush, it smells newly cleaned all over again! Definitely not the part of cleaning toilets that I would have trouble finding joy in. It's the rest of the toilet that I loathe.
First, annoyingly, dust seems to really like toilets. That, and dog hair, and people hair, and any other type of particles that might have even considered coming into my house, intentionally or not. So I can't even clean the toilet for all the times I'm having to rinse the gunk off my sponge. And that's just the top parts of the toilet. Once you get to the bottom, you have to wade through drifts of the stuff. Plus you have that really sticky residue around the bolts attaching your toilet to the floor. How is it that when you try to clean it off it won't come off, but when you're trying to clean everything else off it won't stay off your sponge? And then, the worst part of all, you have that little area between your toilet seat and the tank. The epitome of gross. How can such a little space collect so much yuck? (Hmmm, sounds familiar...my heart?) I get the heebie-jeebies every time I clean there. Especially in our downstairs bathroom when I consider how many different DNAs are represented, a number directly proportionate the the number of guests who have peed in my house. Yuck. Nothing against our guests, especially since my nightmarish imagination sometimes gets the better of me right about now. But I am definitely committed to teaching my son how to sit and pee. Or better yet, just never have to pee in other people's houses at all. Yes, that sounds better.
So, now that I have enlightened you on the extent of my hatred for cleaning toilets...joy? Really?
No, not really. I have not truly discovered the joy of cleaning toilets. Hence, the blog. The blog is about my efforts at finding joy in those things that seem to bring none. And boy is it breath-taking when I do.
This is the beginning of what I've learned from cleaning toilets: I have learned how to serve my family - my husband, who is better at keeping house than I am but would never say it; my daughter, who still miraculously thinks I hung the moon and imitates most of what I do; my son, whose face lights up brighter than a candle in a dark room when I but look at him. I have discovered joy in that. If cleaning a toilet - gunk, residue, urine and all - blesses my family, it is pure joy. Learning to serve can be deathly painful at times - as I learn to sacrifice my craving for a moment to myself, my excuse of doing another chore (that is easier or more enjoyable), my laziness, my lack of self-control, my desire to be in the company of others rather than alone in a bathroom - but learning to love others above myself, learning to serve my husband as a way of honoring him, learning to take this gift of being forged and reshaped by the One who loves me more than I can comprehend...yes, joy. When I have the eyes to see, it is pure joy.
Lord, help me to see. And yes, maybe even to taste too.
I grew up not being very good at doing chores. There were times in my childhood that you couldn't see the floor of my bedroom for all the clothes piled up there - and there was a lot of floor not to see. Or maybe I should more accurately say that there were times that you could see the floor, however few and far between. But despite evidence to the contrary, that was not even my least favorite chore to perform. The two chores that I hated more than any others were doing laundry (my college roommate can regale you with stories to support this claim) and, you guessed it, cleaning the bathroom.
Cleaning the toilet bowl itself isn't really my problem. In fact, that can be slightly rewarding. Growing up, we had well water and a water softener (don't know which one caused this, so I just included both), so there would be a slight amount of residue build-up where the water sat in the bowl (or a lot if I kept putting off cleaning it). So to clean it I got to simply squirt some really cool clingy gel stuff in there, do nothing for about 15 minutes (definitely a feature), use a brush specially designed to keep the dirt at arm's length, and then admire my newly white toilet bowl for the next couple of days. Now, I even get to stick a gel disc to the inside of the toilet so that every time I flush, it smells newly cleaned all over again! Definitely not the part of cleaning toilets that I would have trouble finding joy in. It's the rest of the toilet that I loathe.
First, annoyingly, dust seems to really like toilets. That, and dog hair, and people hair, and any other type of particles that might have even considered coming into my house, intentionally or not. So I can't even clean the toilet for all the times I'm having to rinse the gunk off my sponge. And that's just the top parts of the toilet. Once you get to the bottom, you have to wade through drifts of the stuff. Plus you have that really sticky residue around the bolts attaching your toilet to the floor. How is it that when you try to clean it off it won't come off, but when you're trying to clean everything else off it won't stay off your sponge? And then, the worst part of all, you have that little area between your toilet seat and the tank. The epitome of gross. How can such a little space collect so much yuck? (Hmmm, sounds familiar...my heart?) I get the heebie-jeebies every time I clean there. Especially in our downstairs bathroom when I consider how many different DNAs are represented, a number directly proportionate the the number of guests who have peed in my house. Yuck. Nothing against our guests, especially since my nightmarish imagination sometimes gets the better of me right about now. But I am definitely committed to teaching my son how to sit and pee. Or better yet, just never have to pee in other people's houses at all. Yes, that sounds better.
So, now that I have enlightened you on the extent of my hatred for cleaning toilets...joy? Really?
No, not really. I have not truly discovered the joy of cleaning toilets. Hence, the blog. The blog is about my efforts at finding joy in those things that seem to bring none. And boy is it breath-taking when I do.
This is the beginning of what I've learned from cleaning toilets: I have learned how to serve my family - my husband, who is better at keeping house than I am but would never say it; my daughter, who still miraculously thinks I hung the moon and imitates most of what I do; my son, whose face lights up brighter than a candle in a dark room when I but look at him. I have discovered joy in that. If cleaning a toilet - gunk, residue, urine and all - blesses my family, it is pure joy. Learning to serve can be deathly painful at times - as I learn to sacrifice my craving for a moment to myself, my excuse of doing another chore (that is easier or more enjoyable), my laziness, my lack of self-control, my desire to be in the company of others rather than alone in a bathroom - but learning to love others above myself, learning to serve my husband as a way of honoring him, learning to take this gift of being forged and reshaped by the One who loves me more than I can comprehend...yes, joy. When I have the eyes to see, it is pure joy.
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance." James 1.2-3
"Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him." Psalm 34.8
Lord, help me to see. And yes, maybe even to taste too.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
What's With the Name?
There is no joy in cleaning toilets. Absolutely. none. They are GROSS when you finally get around to cleaning them, and they are gross again the
first time someone uses them. Absolutely gross. Like, we-use-flimsy-paper-seat-covers-so-our-dirty-bottoms-don't-even-touch-them gross. So what in the world does cleaning them have to do with joy?
When I had my first child, I was far from prepared to become a mother. I hadn't planned the timing of our daughter, and, at times, I felt that God had stolen from me a life of purpose in which I could do something that made a difference. I mean, I was gifted and called. I could do a lot more than just changing diapers and trying [desperately] to get this little bundle to sleep...definitely a lot more than something as mundane and pointless as, say, cleaning toilets.
But God, my oh so Faithful and Patient Redeemer, had a much bigger plan in mind than a fruitful season of ministry.
First, there was grace.
Overwhelming, pick-me-up-off-my-face, breath-again-fresh-air grace.
And then, when I least expected it...
Joy.
Deep, abundant, soul-quenching joy.
Slowly [painfully], but surely, He taught me how to find joy in the littlest things: endlessly rocking a crying baby, cleaning poop off a baby's bottom...and her clothes...and the floor, doing yet another load of laundry. The joy of cleaning toilets. And, when I'm patient and quiet enough to find it, it is oh, so sweet.
Now I'm a mommy of two, and I would not trade staying home with my babies for ANY job in the world. I love it. And while I have in no way even come close to unlocking the key to discovering joy in all these little things, I am learning, and I'd love you to join me on this journey.
When I had my first child, I was far from prepared to become a mother. I hadn't planned the timing of our daughter, and, at times, I felt that God had stolen from me a life of purpose in which I could do something that made a difference. I mean, I was gifted and called. I could do a lot more than just changing diapers and trying [desperately] to get this little bundle to sleep...definitely a lot more than something as mundane and pointless as, say, cleaning toilets.
But God, my oh so Faithful and Patient Redeemer, had a much bigger plan in mind than a fruitful season of ministry.
First, there was grace.
Overwhelming, pick-me-up-off-my-face, breath-again-fresh-air grace.
And then, when I least expected it...
Joy.
Deep, abundant, soul-quenching joy.
Slowly [painfully], but surely, He taught me how to find joy in the littlest things: endlessly rocking a crying baby, cleaning poop off a baby's bottom...and her clothes...and the floor, doing yet another load of laundry. The joy of cleaning toilets. And, when I'm patient and quiet enough to find it, it is oh, so sweet.
Now I'm a mommy of two, and I would not trade staying home with my babies for ANY job in the world. I love it. And while I have in no way even come close to unlocking the key to discovering joy in all these little things, I am learning, and I'd love you to join me on this journey.
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