So a few days ago was my first night of washing my clothes by hand. Margi and I had been looking for a while, and we finally found and bought a scrubboard. I started at about 7 (pm of course), and set up my washboard in a tiny plastic container, and then set up a bucket to rinse my clothes in. I had a process going where I would have clothes on the line drying, clothes rinsing in the clean water, and clothes being scrubbed on the washboard–all at the same time! Being the horrible multi-tasker that I am, I was really proud.
I actually liked washing my clothes by hand. It was a peaceful experience–just me under the dark sky, no one to talk to or entertain. It was kind of a redeeming process, too. In this consumer society we are so far removed from certain processes, and getting our clothes clean is one of them. Washing my clothes by hand allows me a chance to get up close and personal with all the dirt, stains, and filth I accumulated.
I´ve always hated it when people take an idea stretch it unnaturally, stretching the idea to it´s limit in an effort to make it into some kind of spiritual metaphor. But, for some reason, I´m going to be that person today, so if you hate that–skip to the next blog.
But as I was scrubbing my clothes, I couldn´t help but think that this is how God is with us. We, as sinful people, are stained and splotched and filthy, but God doésn´t simply throw us into a washing machine, refusing to handle us until we are clean. Instead, he grabs a scrubboard, soap, and clothespins, and jumps in to accompany us on our journey to cleanliness.