Cleaning has never been my thing.
Cooking, yes. Making a mess from art projects, definitely. Sitting amidst the clutter lost in a book — oh, yeah.
But cleaning has always seemed boring, repetitive — something to be put off–indefinitely, if possible. Dust seems to gather, dishes pile in the sink, a dark ring of dirt build-up forms around the rim of the sink, whether or not I attack it with the weekly or daily prescription of cleaning.
And what more important things I could be doing with my time!
Since I’ve had my own house, though, I’ve found some rhythm in the dailiness of these tasks. True, I’m no model housekeeper, but there is something soothing about putting things where they belong, cleaning surfaces till they shine, sweeping away the crumbs from the meals of our lives.
Kathleen Norris echoes in my mind as I learn the liturgy of folding and putting away clean towels. A sweet Sabbath peace settles over the house.
Tomorrow, the piles will slowly begin to reappear, the dust will start to settle, the dishes will pile up in the sink once more….
we will rest.