I give a fierce glare at the dishes. I leave the kitchen. Maybe if I leave they will go away. I come back in the kitchen. It is still haunting me. Out of habit I reach for the dishwasher handle, it is not there. All the years of throwing dishes into a machine seems like a luxury.
The constant battle of dishes and laundry tries to overcome me every day. I will conquer. In this past I have foolishly thought that it will all work itself out. It’s an illusion that I don’t have to face. It is kind of like my aunt telling me as a child that if I thought a cheeseburger wouldn’t make me fat, it couldn’t. It doesn’t matter how you try to rationalize it or make chores disappear in your mind- it is unrelenting and constant.
There is beauty in a detailed life. There is surrender and acceptance. Like washing the dishes while the trees blow in the wind. Seeing a squirrel hold on for dear life. Hearing God’s gentle voice telling me that He is pleased. Dancing in His favor as I put away toys.
One sink full of dishes down, another two to go. At least Colorado is dry.