Sophie’s head disappears inside the washing machine. A moment later she emerges with yet another armful of wet clothes which she tosses into my basket.
“Where does all the washing come from?” I moan. “We wash every day and somehow the basket never empties. I still have a load of towels to do.”
I am frowning but Sophie is grinning. “Just think of all that grace we’re earning, Mum. Every day there’s more washing and another chance to earn more grace. A never-ending supply of grace.”
I think about this. Repetitive housework is a source of never-ending grace. I’d forgotten this. I’d been regarding it as a chore, boring work that I’d rather not do.
I notice Callum’s washing basket is overflowing with dirty clothes. I wonder when he’ll tackle this job. Then I say, “If you load your clothes into the machine before you leave for work, I’ll wash them for you.”
At the end of the day, there are two baskets of neatly folded clean clothes waiting outside Callum’s bedroom door. He returns home and discovers them, and a huge grin lights up his face, “Thanks Mum!” I am enveloped in a big hug.
“That’s OK. I needed some grace.” I smile. I feel good.
Soon Callum’s basket is overflowing once again. We have a huge pile of dirty clothes too.
"Aren't we lucky, Mum?" asks Sophie.
Never ending housework. More grace waiting to be earned.
It all makes perfect sense so why do I still want to sigh when I see the work piling up? Why do I sometimes groan instead of smile, and struggle to have the right attitude?
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