Domesticity

{Pictured: silver dollar pancakes from St. Matthew's Day.}

I don't remember where I read it, or even if I did read it. It is a thought that is knitted into my knowledge, its roots planted there without recognition.  The more we draw closer to God, the harder it is to go back to "real life."  It's a paradox and a conundrum.  I want to live in the presence of Him, and miss Him terribly when I fall away or fall short.  When I do grow close to Him, turning back to the domesticity of everyday life is a bit anti-climactic.  It is like turning back to the country table after having feasted in the castle.  The problem (which is not really a problem, except if I make it one) is that I'm an all-too cerebral soul.  I'm full of lofty ideals and good intentions.  I romanticize the ordinary, but sometimes the ordinary falls short of my romanticizing.  And that's okay.  It doesn't make it any less sacred.  This is what it means to live in a God-breathed world.

These days, I am trying to be cheerful when I turn away from my mystical inclinations toward the drudgery of dirty laundry, and wiping noses, and cleaning children who soil themselves for the second (or third) time in one day.  And I tell myself -- it is not a prayer or a hope or even a mantra -- that I serve Jesus profoundly in these tasks.  That it is, in fact, an honor greatly bestowed upon me, carefully chosen, and undeserving, to clean a disabled child who cannot use the toilet.  I know this to be truth.  And then I think about the people, about the society, who don't know this is true, and I feel grateful.