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This week Five Minute Friday is at (in)courage. You can read about its origin there.
The laundry’s been in the dryer for two days. It’s my clothes, so I convince myself it’s OK, that as long as I have something to wear I’ll be fine. Yoga pants that I wore pregnant and are hanging off, huge? Whatever.
I feel caught in a trap of bad housekeeping. Every time I start, a child wakes up, cries, or gets everything back out. (I am in fact doubtful I can make it five minutes without the baby waking this morning.) And, of course, to start with, I am an awful, reluctant housekeeper. It’s one of my main sources of guilt.
And if I face it with guilt, with dread, with “why doesn’t my husband help?” or “when can I teach the kids to do this?” it rarely gets done.
But when I cling to the sponge as if it’s Jesus? Washing dishes with Scripture in my head or a podcast playing on the laptop or hymns on my lips? It becomes worship. It becomes church, right there, praise and thanksgiving and confession and letting Him be good enough for me.
It’s when I embrace doing whatever for His glory that I really feel alive. That I feel Him next to me, drying the plates and telling me I am enough for this life He’s put me in.