Light in the Laundry Room

The overhead light in our laundry room had been slowly fading for who knows how long before it flickered and perished, leaving the repairman murmuring over something called a ballast. It is a long and boring story, but suffice to say we had to wait weeks for the replacement part. I went from spinning clothes in the shadows, to wrangling laundry in the dark, with a hall light barely illuminating the washer and dryer.

While laundry is no longer the massive chore it once was, I still love the scent of fresh detergent paired with a lavender-vanilla fabric softener. The world might be raging all around, but our laundry still sings for me, and there remains a quotidian comfort in warmly scented clothing, folded and delivered.

Quietly, so quietly, it sets the elfin patch of earth beneath me to rights.

//

A decade backward found me spinning laundry dials round and round the clock, like no one’s business. I had sons playing football and mowing a gazillion lawns, stashing twenties for college dreams while sweating ferociously in the south’s inferno.

The daily clothing of the six of us, plus mowing attire, football practice apparel, and Friday-night-sweat-producing uniforms, meant laundry was a time. Our washer and dryer were run ragged, wheezing, coughing, and quitting more times than I cared to count.

For a short stint, I attempted drying laundry on a clothesline strung from our parsonage’s backyard shed to a tree, endeavoring to lower our stout electric bill.

My experiment failed in five different ways, chiefly because a ruffled parishioner spied me from her binoculared perch in the church’s back hallway window. With a clothespin hovering between my lips, I happily strung football jerseys and shorts, heart glowing with accomplishment, having no idea someone was watching.

I startled at the sound of her voice.

Good morning, Kristin.

Removing the clothespin from my mouth, I smiled.

Hi Marge.

Ohhhhhhh she said, hands on hips. A clothesline? Here?

Words that brought a swift and mighty end to my Caroline Ingalls-type inclinations.

In the end, it mattered not, given the humidity did not lend itself to air drying.

It was back to square one, which meant a return to the laundry room doubling as a homeschooling space–two cumbersome desks pushed up against adjoining walls, swallowed by the sounds of a spinning washer and chugging, dying dryer. The heat was astonishing, prompting me to position a boxed fan in the doorway, cooling our two oldest sons, now entrusted with the noble task of keeping their school papers from taking flight. While the boxed fan assuaged the heat, it also left the schoolroom sounding like a Bowing 747 airstrip.

This was life as we knew it, and our hours were fully stacked with school, church, sports, music lessons, and homeschool group activities. The washer/dryer/fan noises became the customary backdrop to our daily rigamarole.

There is always an upside, isn’t there? Forever something to thank God for, no matter what.

Yes, our noisy, clunky washing machine and dryer situation might not have been idyllic, but the light shone brightly in the laundry room allowing me to see the work of my hands.

//

Our repairman returned this morning. As I typed away at my desk I silently prayed that the new part would work. A while later my husband called my name, and I jogged upstairs.

Light, restored!

How beautiful, how bright, how awful.

My dusting rags sat in a mismatched heap. The detergent, fabric softener, and cleaning supplies were haphazardly positioned. Liquid had drizzled down several of the containers, leaving a sticky residue. The washing machine beheld a grimy film circling the edges of the detergent pocket.

Weeks of darkness and shadows had concealed the grim reality.

Bright light illuminates everything, does it not?

I was presented a choice: Switch off the light and walk away in denial, stiff-arming reality, while pretending all was well.

Or humbly acknowledge the truth, and correct it.

I rolled up my sleeves and went to work.

//

Autumn is a prime time to examine your soul.

As the leaves turn brilliant, fiery flames of red, orange, and gold, I remind myself they are dying.

Death can be beautiful, I consider. In solitude, with my Bible wide open, I ask:

What needs to perish within the laundry room of my life, to make room for growth in holiness?

We must first see the truth of our dark, tangled hearts before truly confessing our need for a Savior.

Have you been operating in the shadows of a darkened laundry room? Has your soul grown dim? Grimy? Cluttered?

Are you choosing fidelity to God through the treasuring of his Word? Are you part of a church that teaches the whole counsel of God, firmly planted and rooted in Scripture alone?

Or has the light of church dimmed, flickered; grown dark under man-centered foolishness? Has false teaching slithered into both pulpit and pew–anathema to the soul?

Be careful.

The condition of one’s soul is no small matter. In fact, it is the most serious business of all. (Deuteronomy 4:9)

Shine the light of Christ over the laundry room of your soul, making it your chief aim to grow in truth, obedience, and humility before the Lord, decimating all shadows. Be faithful to God, walking circumspectly, making certain that you are not resting in the wisdom of man, but in the wisdom of God.

May Christ burn brightly, alighting and sweeping clean our wandering hearts.

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John 3:19-21 And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil. For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his works should be exposed. But whoever does what is true comes to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that his works have been carried out in God.

John 12:46  I have come into the world as light so that whoever believes in me may not remain in darkness.

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