Ah, the bathrooms. How I hate to clean them. How I hate to use them if they are not clean. Oh, the quandary in which I find myself. As I scrubbed the sinks, tubs, and toilets today, I found myself grumbling (as I am wont to do) about housework. Since becoming a mother, I am even more frustrated by the fact that none of my house cleaning efforts seem to last for more than five minutes. No sooner do I vacuum than sand is tracked in from the playground. No sooner do I clean the kitchen than a sippy cup sails past my head and spills all over the linoleum. You get the idea. "Woe is me, woe is me!" I thought to myself as I wiped the faucets and the duckie toothbrush holder.
Suddenly, in the midst of my internal moaning, a statistic popped into my mind that I heard on a television special recently. Women of my grandmothers' generation spent an average of *sixty* hours per week on housework. They had few of the modern conveniences that I enjoy, like a clothes dryer, swiffers, and (most importantly) Clorox Wipes. If they spent that much time on housework, while juggling children and other responsibilities, I suppose that I can manage the (much smaller amount of) time that I have to invest in keeping the place livable.
As if that knowledge wasn't enough, I was also convicted spiritually for my groaning. While perusing the internet later in the day, I came across this quote from Martin Luther (quite by accident . . . or quite providentially):
Our natural reason looks at marriage and turns up its nose and says, Alas! Must I rock the baby? Wash its diapers? Make its bed? Smell its stench? Stay at nights with it? Take care of it when it cries? Heal its rashes and sores? And on top of that care for my spouse, provide labor at my trade, take care of this and take care of that? Do this and do that? And endure this and endure that? Why should I make such a prisoner of myself?
What then does Christian faith say to this? It opens its eyes, looks upon all these insignificant, distasteful and despised duties in the spirit, and is aware that they are all adorned with divine approval as with the costliest gold and jewels.
It says, O God, I confess I am not worthy to rock that little babe or wash its diapers, or to be entrusted with the care of a child and its mother. How is it that I without any merit have come to this distinction of being certain that I am serving thy creature and thy most precious will? Oh, how gladly will I do so. Though the duty should be even more insignificant and despised, neither frost nor heat, neither drudgery nor labor will distress me for I am certain that it is thus pleasing in thy sight.
~Martin Luther
May this be my attitude, may this be my prayer.
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