Doing the Dishes

It’s looking a lot like this around here this morning. There’s not a clean knife to be found and the boys nearly had to share the same cup at breakfast. And yes, we do have  dishwasher — this magical machine that takes our grimy greasy dishes and makes them bright and shiny again. Yeah, we have one of those.

But … well, here’s a true confession.

There is nothing I hate more in all the world than loading and unloading this dishwasher. Seriously, I would rather clean the toilets.

My husband knows that if he wants to make me smile, all he has to do is do this one chore. Load and unload the dishwasher for me, and I won’t ask you to lift a finger for the rest of the day.

Of all the chores to hate, though, right? There is so little effort required to do this chore. I mean — dirty dishes in — clean ones out. Simple formula. And yet, I let them sit there in that sink.

I refuse to pause and do that one thing. I walk by the towering pile a thousand times a day and avert my eyes from the mess. Maybe the dish fairy will come and do it for me if I just don’t look at it? Maybe. Maybe I can hide in plain sight if I squeeze my eyes closed, my little boys always claimed it worked — yeah, maybe?

And if I am being honest, it isn’t only the piles of sticky waffle plates and the gooey peanut butter knives that I spend my days refusing to see. 

I have this way of doing life that likes to look only at the good and shiny and leave the crusty charred edges of these days in the dark corner of my heart. I don’t like to look at what is bad; at what is messy. I don’t like to pause and try to unstack it. I just want it to be gone. So I squeeze my eyes shut and  keep moving.

Ever done that? Ever known that there was a problem you needed to deal with and kept walking away from it because the pause was more than you had in you? It can actually work for a while. Ask me how I know.

But then you run all out. No more plates in the cupboard. No more knives in the drawer or pots in the pantry. No more light in my eyes or air in my soul. I reach in and I come up empty. And I realize I am going to have to deal with the dirty pile.

“Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30.

These words of Jesus spin right into my head as I stare at the mess. The mess that I refuse to deal with or to even acknowledge exists.

Something about the words of that verse make me want to quickly straighten up this kitchen and just quit my whining over something so insignificant.

As if Jesus might be raising his eyebrows my direction, “Seriously, just do the work and quit making it harder than it needs to be. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” And I shrink a bit under what I imagine to be the disdain in Jesus’s voice.

Because don’t we all imagine that Jesus would deal with us like we deal with each other? Don’t we make him small and human and when things go wrong or get dirty or when we are tired and weary and unable to go one more step we hear him tell us to, “Buck up! Get going! You can do this! Quit your whining this isn’t so bad.” Like he might just be an irritated coach on the day’s sideline.

So I start to unstack the sopping pile of dishes. Rinsing and placing each one; touching the pieces that have come together to form this mess. I stand still and quiet; my tired hands fully in the dirt of this moment. And it hits me slowly. That’s not it at all.

This is what he wants. This is how he wants us to come.

You, right there, you who are “weary and heavy laden”; overwhelmed with all that life asks of you, unsure if you are doing it right, constantly comparing yourself to everyone else’s successes, trying desperately to avoid looking at what is broken, dirty or piled in the corner of life,  you who are like that, come to me just like you are. 

Jesus speaks it quietly,  don’t try to make it better, come to me just like that.

The water washes clean the sticky plates and I feel it flood over my soul. He wants what’s real.

Bring the dirt, bring the mess, bring the piles, right here to me. Quit hiding from it all. Pause and look at what’s broken.  Be honest in my presence. You just come to me, that’s your job, you let me do the cleaning; the restoring.

Those dirty dishes go right  into the dishwasher and I trust that they will come out clean. But my heart? These hard parts of life? Do I trust that when I take those to Jesus he will make them new? Or do I think that hiding them and piling them in the corner is better?

And I am so slow to get this. Slow to stop making life look perfect and averting my eyes from the hard things; slow to just come.

But this. “… for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls.”  There is no disdain in his voice. No coach would ever acknowledge that his player has no strength. But Jesus knows us.

He knows how weak we actually are. He knows that it doesn’t come any other way; that soul filling breath that restores. It is not ours to create. It comes only from him.

So maybe for today, for just right now, maybe I can pause, and breathe deep and just do the dishes.

“Create in me a clean heart O, God and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10).