The job of sorting the laundry hangs over my head. The thoughts tumble over each other and beg to be sorted too. “Why do I have to do so much washing?”
When the kids were small, they got free rides in the laundry basket. Going up and down the stairs, it only made sense for me to plop a baby in with the basket full of laundry. That way, I could have both with me at the same time.
The basket also became a playmate. Sometimes it served as a fort, or upside down as a zoo cage. Other times the basket was a race car or speed boat. “Vroom! Vroom!”
I guess for all of us, there’s a certain fascination for a machine that can magically make things clean…or dirty. As in, discovering afterwards that a blue pen has left its mark on drum and clothes alike. Or finding out that a budding scientist threw dark clothes in with chlorine bleach; or red clothes with white underwear.
And then there are those collections that gather in a laundry room. Coins that clang around with each spin. Meal cards from the school lunchroom. Miniature toys forgotten in a pocket.
Someday the kids will be grown and gone to pursue their own lives. I won’t have any more stains to catch before they go through the dryer, or gum to pry from the fabric. But I’ll miss being able to pray for where the feet would go, as I sorted the socks that would cover them. Or to ask the Lord to guard the heart, hidden beneath the shirt.
Excuse me…I think I’ll go start the washing machine. That new perspective has just given me the motivation to tackle the laundry room once more!