Saturday, April 5, 2014

Thursday Morning Laundry

I sit in a small room, taking it all in.

Someone speaks but I do not recognize their words. Instead, I take special notice of the insignificants: the computer a few feet away, a newsletter laden bulletin board, the polish on my shaking toes. It's cold in here and easier to ignore the blows this way. 

I'm bleeding now, but I don't fight back. Something inside of me broke and this is all I can do, sit and listen to my dream deferred. I let each droplet hit the floor as everything else hits the fan and I am reminded:


When I leave this room, the whole world will tell me I have a right to be upset. When I leave this room, the whole world will tell me I do not have to forgive someone who will never apologize. When I leave this room, the whole world will coddle my wounds and tell me savor them.


But the whole world is not the benchmark for treating people. Jesus is the minimum for how anybody should be treated because "Ashley, do you remember all that I forgave you of?"


I feel so deflated though and can't seem to get back to where I was. Where did my fire go? I know I love Jesus but my passion is gone. Do they realize what they've done?


Only sound. No sparks.

Six months later I'm doing Thursday morning laundry. It is too mundane and I feel like I should be doing something else. Never enough and now nothing at all.

But maybe that was the point? In light of Jesus, we're all down for the count. What matters is what we do with who we are. Will we let that sin defeat us or use human fallibility to inspire us into God's individual calling on our lives? As lead pastor of Next Level Church Matt Keller puts it, He is the "God of the Underdogs."

So I keep going, keep writing, and keep washing my clothes.

Spark. Flames.

Turns out that dryer lint and grace are highly flammable.

Like what you're reading? Follow me on Twitter at @smashley355