Unusual Potty Training

Our bathroom has double sinks, a nice tile shower, a jacuzzi tub, and one of those "private" potty rooms. You know what I mean? The kind where the toilet has it's own space and you can shut the door and actually be alone while you take care of business.

Not that I ever actually get to use the potty alone...

There have often been little fingers squirming their way under the door.

Absolutely-cannot-wait-45-seconds-to-be-asked questions spouted from the other side of the door.

Many tattlings have been told, and conversations carried on, through the door.

It was there a few nights ago that I looked around and saw the necessities - all the things anyone might need to take care of business - in that little room-within-a-room, but I also noticed something else... stuff nobody wants:

Drips.

Dust.

Smudges.

Stink.

Grime.

Gross!

Seriously, y'all. Ugh.

And yet, so often, I had dismissed it, "It's not that bad." I thought. "It could be so much worse." "I just cleaned it two Saturdays ago!" 

So I reached over and grabbed the brush, pulled the cleaning spray from under the sink, and give it a good scrubbing. 

Truth be told, I was a bit frustrated before I ever went into that little room that evening, so getting the Throne to sparkle was a goal worthy of my focus. And, hey, since I had all that pent-up aggravation energy, I realized I might as well wipe down the top of the toilet and the floor around it, too. Then I noticed that the baseboards were pretty yucky, so I gave them a cleaning, as well. After all that, I couldn't leave the floors in a less-than-next-to-godliness state, so I wiped them down, and finished with the door.

Somewhere in the midst of cleaning, this thought crossed my mind:

What if this little room is like a relationship?

What if we're so used to appreciating a friendship for what it is, all the "necessary" things it offers, that when we start to see little whisps of cloudiness in the corners, we're quick to dismiss or ignore them. "No big deal," we say. "Just a little dust. I'll think about it if it gets worse," Or we might even talk about it: "Hey, did you notice that it's looking a little dingy in here?"  "Oh, I don't know, maybe it's just the lighting." But we never actually take time to see if we need to do anything about it.

And one day, (after it's probably been months but we try to convince ourselves it has not,) when we finally reach over with a washrag to wipe off a little spot, we discover this is much yuckier than it first appeared. It's not just a little whisp anymore. No. Apparently. we've become Dust Bunny Farmers.

And everything, from the teeny spiderwebs in the highest corner, down; is suddenly shown in new light. It's neglected. It's stinky. It needs some quality attention.

So, then, we have a couple of options:

We can take a swipe at it, call it good enough, and go on. 

We can let things go that we think aren't going to send us back to the room with, uh, more urgent use of the facilities. And we can get by. 

Or we can take some time, and scrub away the goo.  We can get down on our hands and knees and get a little dirty. We can focus in on the hard-to-reach places where the dust bunnies have had their parties, even though it makes us cringe to think we've let them live it up this long.

It might be hard.

It might seem daunting.

It might certainly give us an opportunity to feel badly about the state we've let it get to.

Looking at all we're wiping away, we may feel sad because it begins to feel overwhelming.

But as we scrub that space from top to bottom, we begin to see a glimmer of something.

Maybe we're not sure what it is exactly; sometimes it's really hard to tell at first.

And I think it can look differently to each of us.

But when it comes into focus, it's always the same thing:

Hope.

When we acknowledge hope, we can begin to see the beauty at the end of the chore.

The bright whites. The warm woods. The light.

When we embrace hope, we're able to be honest about how we feel and what we see, and be heard.

We're able to listen without judgment, with a humble heart.

We're able to extend trust back to the other person even when it has been broken.

When we extend hope, we hold our hand out to the ones who hurt us and invite them back in.
We are able to let go of anger, bitterness, and selfishness because our hands are free.
And we swim in grace; which is so much better than trying to hold our heads up above slimy waters.

Now, every time I step into my bathroom I'm reminded of this.  And while I haven't come fully to the place where I'm consistently chasing out relational dust bunnies, I am more conscientious about what's beginning to gather in the corners.

(Plus, my housework has stepped up a bit. So there's that!)


Is there a "mess" has God used as a "message" in your life lately?

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An afterthought: I started cleaning the bathroom that night out of exasperation. But the Spirit was so faithful to use it to show me that He speaks gently into my heart most clearly and eases my heart most quickly when I am actively serving others. He drew me out of my stewing to remind me life is about service.  It was a beautiful lesson that, honestly, was hard for me to acknowledge at first. I wanted to think a bit higher of myself than the griminess before me. Thankfully, our Father is so so good and He wants to use every moment, even the struggling ones, to teach us and lead us deeper into relationship with Him for His glory and the good of those around us.