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Thursday
Jul052012

No Need for a Swifter

It’s 5:30 AM and my 14-year-old dog woke up with a nonfragant reminder that he hadn’t been outside during the night. An old dog, sweet Riley the beagle is. Now on medication for his bladder. Doesn’t see or hear very well either, and several other body parts have ceased functioning like they once did, including his back legs, which can be quite painful for him and for us to watch. We call him the Easter dog because every time we think it’s all over for him, he is risen. Indeed. Canine-style. Not his time to go. When we were in South Africa for over two weeks, we signed a do-not-resuscitate order just in case, but our vet assures us that Riley isn’t in too much pain as long as he still eats. And ole’ Rile loves to eat especially now that it’s the chicken and rice chunks in gravy. His tail wags. That still works.   

But I don’t like cleaning. I wish Ian would wake up and clean up after Riley instead. He does it so much better. Takes a long time. Gets the perfect mop. Rinses it repeatedly.  Me?  I like writing in the mornings, not cleaning, so I compromise. Am writing about the cleaning.

I use the swifter which probably takes longer because it mostly dances the dirt around, but it helps eliminate the smell. Sort of. Enough where I can write anyway. Maybe Ian will do better when he wakes up. Or not. By then he’ll be ready to go out and climb on the green tractor parked in the middle of the backyard. Man toy equals happy man. Nice way to start the day. Oops. It’s not Saturday. That’s what happens over a holiday.

Last week I bought another dustpan from the dollar store because ours was probably 33 years old. Had to. Swifter wasn’t swiftly cleaning up the dirt. And then there’s the dust, overwhelming in a house 105 years old, and only some of which comes from Riley. Filters through the cracks of our house which is more like a boat anyway, rocking back and forth, and creating more cracks, which invites more dust and dirt and the sometimes small critter, mouse-style.  And the dust pan sometimes isn’t better than the swifter for there are still cracks in the floor too, between the boards. Wish the lady who blew the dirt down the hall of the high school with a leaf blower would come over today. No, I don’t. That’d be worse.

Ian says patience is the key and he’s more patient than me. At cleaning anyway. Oh, and cooking, too.

So I made my favorite green tea in the kitchen where the aroma of garlic and onions in olive oil with chives still lingers in the air from last night and where my black and white vinyl floor reminds me of the black and white marbled floor at La Residence with its delicious caramelized pear French toast. Not the same, but still delicious, my husband’s latest culinary creation -- a tasty, crunchy quinoa patty our sweet daughter-in-law recommended -- has settled down and made itself at home in our kitchen. It’s amazing how good Ian can make something so healthy taste. And how good our kitchen smells after he does. Takes patience, he’s constantly reminding me.

But this morning I don’t have enough patience (or wishful thinking) to wait patiently for him to wake up and want to clean. Maybe patience is developed by being in situations that require patience?  And anyway, he makes so much noise when he wakes up and then I couldn't write anyway, so...

But I can’t stay in the kitchen forever if I want to finish my book and my Bible study and my blogs and my…. So back I go to the room in the back. Back to the cleaning problem at hand and back down on my knees to clean. And that’s where I think of Jesus. Reminders everywhere of Jesus, but especially on my knees. He took my distress out of the mess and gave me the best. Himself. And on my knees cleaning, I’m overwhelmed with Him. And reminded, too, that I need to clean up inside before I go outside today. Confess the dirt that’s in the cracks of my life. Quit simply moving it around. Take my time before the Throne of Grace where He waits patiently. No need for a swifter, just a grateful heart.

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