And the LORD said to Moses, “Go to the people and consecrate them today and tomorrow. Have them wash their clothes.” Exodus 19:10
II weep over laundry.
And it is not the intimidating size of mountain heights they create in the mudroom. Nor the tomato sauce stains on the white shirts. Or the fact that the washing machine has a devouring appetite for grey sport socks.
As I put away stacks of folded laundry a lump grows in my throat over Hope’s favorite pink blouse: how did her arms grow so long and graceful? I smooth out creases in Shalom’s smocked bishop dress: she should wear it for church on Sunday. To make more memories in that dress before it is only that: a memory. Kai’s sweatshirt has been the uniform of a long line of sandcastle builders: Levi wore it before Kai, Joshua before Levi, Caleb before Joshua. I laugh through the embarrassing tears: who gets emotional over laundry?
But laundry isn’t about stacks and piles. Or prespots and aromatic detergents. It is about people, and children, and babies and days clothed in colors and family. Laundry is blessed memories.
We may not be arraigned like the flowers of the fields but I linger over the bouquet of brilliant remembrances, and deeply inhale the fragrance of our moments.
These are the clothes of our lives. Bring on the laundry.
Lord, laundry is the gift of recalling memories and times and the still frames of the lives that You give. And I thank you for it. All of it.
If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you… Matt. 6:30
