I don’t take kindly to housework. There are aspects of it, such as dusting and scrubbing toilets (do not get me started on ironing), that I feel are beneath me. I find it frustrating to spend time and energy on chores that so quickly and easily become undone.
Simply put, there are other things I’d rather be doing.
A good friend of mine cross-stitched and framed the following especially for me:
A clean house is the sign of a wasted life.
But to be honest, I don’t really believe that.
Yesterday I labored early to scrub my stove, catch up on the dirty dishes and mop the kitchen floor. I was supposed to bake pies as well, but family from out of town dropped in and I dropped everything to visit with them. Then my husband and I took our nephew to watch the BYU-UTAH game (it was one of the best football games I’ve ever witnessed, thanks for asking). It was a cold night, the game went into overtime and then there was much rejoicing, so we didn’t arrive back home until late. I was chilled to the bone and dog-tired. But I’d invited family and friends over for today’s annual Thanksgiving dinner round two (it’s all about the leftovers) and I knew I would hate myself today if I didn’t get the pies done last night.
So I baked pies until just after midnight and then willed myself to complete the last batch of dishes before going to bed.
As I got up early this morning to boil the yams before church, I felt the leftover aches in my feet and my back. I glanced at my puffy eyes and I wondered why I wasn’t still in bed. I thought about how this task–though self-imposed–was a labor of love.
I pondered the to-do list for this day and how I am s-l-o-w-l-y coming to realize that cooking and cleaning and creating a house of order can be labors of love. The tasks themselves may be menial, but I believe meaning can be found through our sense of purpose in accomplishing them.
Admittedly, I am still working to find that sense of purpose.
What about you? Do you find a sense of purpose in the tasks at hand–whatever they may be? When it comes to your labors, how do you feel the love? Do you dust? (Because I still can’t wrap myself around that one.)