I’ve been told the most fitting definition of insanity is, “doing the same thing over and over again while expecting a different result.” If that’s true, then what I’ve suspected all along is true…my entire life is insane.
Day after day I make my bed, throw another load of laundry in the machine, rinse dirty dishes, replace empty toilet paper rolls, and pick up wet towels. Day after will-this-ever-end day. Yeah…I gave up on “expecting a different result” a long, long time ago.
And I’ll be honest; over the years, there have been many times this insanely mundane cycle has lulled me into a near paralyzing depression. Oh, how I ached for something to come along that could rescue me from my domestic pit. The phone would ring, and I’d answer with hopeful anticipation – knowing this would be the call that finally changes it all.
“Hi, honey,” I’d hear my sweet husband say on the other end. “Just called to tell you how much I love you.”
What? How dare you call just to tell me that? Did we win the lottery? Did someone offer to send us on a free trip? Did we win a new car? Ugh.
I know. It’s awful. My husband’s words were so sweet, and my disappointment was simply horrible. But I couldn’t help it. I was desperate for change – desperate for something - well…majestic to break the monotony.
Maybe I’m not the only one who feels this way. Maybe there are others who are dreading the alarm clock in the morning because it means frying yet another egg, making yet another bed, etc. And maybe others are looking for something majestic to break the cycle – to give a deeper meaning to the day.
If so, I think I have a bit of hope for us all. I think I’ve finally found it…the majestic to break the mundane. And it started when I found this poem:Holy as a Day is Spent Holy is the dish and drain The soap and sink, and the cup and plate And the warm wool socks, and cold white tile Showerheads and good dry towels And frying eggs sound like psalms With a bit of salt measured in my palm It’s all a part of a sacrament As holy as a day is spent Holy is the busy street And cars that boom with passion’s beat And the checkout girl, counting change And the hands that shook my hands today And hymns of geese fly overhead And stretch their wings like their parents did Blessed be the dog, that runs in her sleep To catch that wild and elusive thing Holy is the familiar room And the quiet moments in the afternoon And folding sheets like folding hands To pray as only laundry can I’m letting go of all I fear Like autumn leaves of earth and air For summer came and summer went As holy as a day is spent Holy is the place I stand To give whatever small good I can And the empty page, and the open book Redemption everywhere I look Unknowingly we slow our pace In the shade of unexpected grace And with grateful smiles and sad lament As holy as a day is spent And morning light sings “providence” As holy as a day is spent -Carrie Newcomer, Quaker poet-
Frying eggs like singing psalms? Folded sheets like folded hands? Really? Can it be this simple? Can it really be as simple as looking for diety in the daily? Looking for a word from the Master in all that I do?
I decided to give it a try. And before my eyes it all changed.
I saw the familiar strands of runaway hairs in my bathroom sink…and I thought: God knows just how many of these fell out this morning…and He knows precisely how many are left on my head. Thank you, Father, for knowing me so well.
I saw a million dust particles floating around in the light of my living room window…and I thought: the Father’s thoughts toward me are more numerous than these floaters. He is constantly thinking good things about me.
I folded a load of towels…and I thought: these towels are bending down in humility, just as my Savior humbled Himself for me. Thank you, Jesus, for taking my place on that cross.
The majestic found me right where I was. It can find you.
It might not change the circumstances of the day, and it probably won’t do the dishes for us. But it will change us on the inside if we let it.
God is truly everywhere. His Majesty is everywhere. In every day.
Over and over again.