What's the Point?

Today I cleaned the kitchen. I always clean the kitchen on Tuesdays, that's the kind of scheduled, organized person I am. I have a routine with my cleaning and like to stick to it, although this morning I was feeling very unmotivated to clean anything at all, especially the kitchen.

The dishes in the sink needed to go in the dishwasher, but first the dishwasher had to be unloaded (which means I had to put all the clean dishes away).

The counters needed to be wiped off, like take everything off them first and then give them a good scrub down.

The microwave needed to be wiped out, not just a quick swipe.

Same with the stove top and front of the dishwasher.

The trash can could use some disinfectant, or something.

The table needed a good thorough cleaning: top, legs, everything. Oh, and the chairs too. Of course, I feel like I clean the table and chairs at least 5 times a day, what with all the sticky hands (covered in peanut butter or yogurt or whatever) that cross paths with the table and chairs throughout the course of the 12 hours the child is awake.

The floor needed to be swept, again. And then mopped, again.

And so I sat there drinking my decaf coffee postponing the task ahead, thinking to myself, "What's the point of all this cleaning anyway? By snack time (or better yet, right after Coralyn finishes breakfast) you won't even be able to tell I cleaned the table, swept and mopped the floor, or did any of those other things I mentioned earlier. So why bother?"

Well, being me, I couldn't not clean. The black cat hair on the white linoleum was driving me bonkers. By the way, whoever invented white or off-white linoleum must not have had any pets, or children for that matter.

Gathering my cleaning supplies, I dutifully started my cleaning regimen. I even moved the table away from the wall and swept in those hard-to-reach, barely-ever-get-touched places. I washed those chairs from top to bottom, removing every single icky fingerprint or glob of leftover food that I could find. Then I got down on my hands and knees and mopped that floor, scrubbing with all my might. I did all my other cleaning tasks too, but I won't go into detail (don't want to bore you completely). When I was finished, I felt pretty good about my clean kitchen. I could almost see my reflection in the white linoleum (yeah right!). And so all that work was worthwhile, even if it will only last for a few short moments. I will enjoy those moments to their fullest extent. :)

As I sat back admiring my work, I wondered to myself if God ever gets tired of cleaning up after me, or if He asks Himself, "What's the point in forgiving her yet again for the same sin she struggled with yesterday? She's just going to go and mess up again today and then have to come ask for forgiveness one more time?" I hope the phrase, "Why bother?" never crosses God's mind. If it does, I am in deep trouble.

Thankfully, our God doesn't get fed up with our messes. He keeps wiping up after us, sweeping up our dirt, mopping up our spills, and whatever other cleaning needs to be done. So the next time I get frustrated about sweeping the kitchen floor for the seemingly 100th time that day, I am going to try to remember that God is constantly following me around with a broom, cleaning up after me. And He doesn't have a bad attitude about it, either.