We've been busy spring cleaning around here. The basement is almost finished - next week - and by the time family comes for a visit in early June, it will be ready. I've been determined to clean every nook and cranny. There is a stress-induced atmosphere of, "Stop!..." "Don't walk there!...." "Don't touch that!...." "Flush!..." in our house lately that is not pleasant. I'm anxious for spring cleaning to be over.
In the more immediate future, we're having some friends over tonight. Cleaning the bathroom was in order. Not the main bathroom, the upstairs bathroom. Because you just never know when your guest may feel like taking a shower.
My older two boys are getting very adept at certain chores. This afternoon, I headed downstairs and told Caleb to empty the dishwasher and Sam to grab the broom and sweep the kitchen (for the third time today). They were both in the middle of activities, but I reminded them that we were preparing for guests and wanted things special.
Sam asks, "Mom, why does everything have to be perfect? It's not like this is the most special day ever."
Backtalk ignored...
Continues, "You know, I can think of a more special day than this - THE most special day! - and we won't be able to sweep the floor or clean or anything for it."
Uh oh.
Continues, "We won't be able to prepare anything at all! Except our hearts... The day Jesus comes back."
Anyone need a preacher for Sunday morning?
Good grief, Lord, you're speaking to me through my eight-year-old, aren't you? He gets it and I don't. The most important company ever, and it won't matter whether our house is clean or not. Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless...
Caleb responds, "Yeah, Sam, because Jesus won't be comin' in our house. He'll just be outside."
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