Chronicling 40: Day 22 of 365


In my most wonderful of dreams… I’d have a basement laundry room.  On the one side would be a bank of washers, on the other side a bank of driers.  There would be a rack for hanging clothes on a third wall, with small baskets on the ground for tossing in folded paired socks.  Then down the middle would be a long folding station.

In other words I would like a laundromat in my house.  Not because I have a fondness for coin operated laundry centers, but because I absolutely LOATHE laundry.  Unless you are a family of nudists it is the one chore that is never done.  Someone is always wearing something.  There is always a rogue sock under the bed or behind a door.

Back to school not only means I will see an increase in laundry, but also means that there is an expectation that I will have all the things washed on some sort of schedule.

But I hate it.  I truly do.  This is the chore I would give up easily to anyone in the house, and yet it seems to be the one that evades being assigned away. Over the years I have tried many ways to get my head in check.

I read the books that told me to find joy in the laundry as it is a blessing to have a washing machine in the first place.  I gave the “pray for the person whose laundry you are folding as you fold it” perspective check.  I washed all one one day, I dedicated to doing a load a day.

But nope… it is 19 years into marriage… and I still loathe it.  My heart has not changed.  I dream of a financial windfall that allows me to throw away every article in the house buying all new clothing.  I’ve looked into the cost of dropping the loads off at a full service laundromat, or at least certain things at the local dry cleaner.  I’ve kept the total number of pieces of clothing small, which meant I had to wash more frequently and the clothes wore out faster. I’ve expanded the wardrobe, which did result in the clothes not wearing out as fast… but it is so easy to get behind on laundry.

I’ve climbed Mount Saint Laundry.  I have the bumper sticker.  The view isn’t pretty.

My eldest starting washing her own laundry.  Let’s bask in that for a moment.

Hold on, I’m not done basking.

But there are still 4 people that I’m washing for.  Le’sigh.

Once, I purposely waited until I had a free day to do all the wash.  A full catch up.  My plan was to fold it all, then call the family into my room.  I wanted them to witness the magnitude of the laundry chore.  I also wanted them to see the small percentage of laundry that was actually mine.

My husband, bless him, thought he was being helpful and had the kids put all of their laundry away while I ran out to the store.

There was no satisfaction that day.  None.  No one got to see the glory of Mount Saint Laundry chiseled away into the neatly defined piles of softly folded clothes.

I’ve been able to bring myself to try it again.  #NotTodayMountSaintLaundry

Why don’t you turn your pants inside out?

Stop leaving crayons in your pockets!

What do you mean you need this shirt TODAY?

Oh, these stiff necked people!  No matter how many times I ask them to follow my laundry statues, their heads are turned!

So grateful that the Lord has a greater love for me than I do this laundry that is always there to be dealt with.  So grateful that the Lord has more patience and grace than I offer up to the people I serve in my home.

I am tackling Mount Saint Laundry, but the Lord is tackling Mount Sin.

Washing us, making us clean.

I’ve smudged that bright white new shirt.

I’ve torn in sorrow at the covering He knit.

Lord, forgive me for my own stiff necked ways.


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