Housework Theology

I need a maid.

And a cook.

Might as well throw in a butler and make it an even three.

Why in the world does housework consume so much time and energy? It doesn't even make sense. The human race has evolved into such intellectual, creative beings -- why do we still have to cook and clean and do other treacherous chores?

I am just egotistical enough to believe that my unique gifts and talents could be much better used than emptying a dishwasher or scrubbing a bathtub. (That one is the worst. Scrubbing bathtubs is the bane of my existence.)

I could drop all those housework hours into a glorious "family ministry" piggy bank where they would be spent on meaningful endeavors.

Why not? Why not pay me enough to hire a fabu trio of housework gurus? I think we all agree that ministry with families and youth is important enough to warrant that!

And then I glance around and notice that everyone does house-chores, to some varying degree: my teacher mom, an oncologist I once housesat for, the dentist who is building his own personal badminton court from the pocket I fill . . . psychologists, journalists, professors, farmers, mechanics . . . it is below all of us . . .

or have we shoved it down there on our own accord . . . crowning ourselves kings and queens of the universe as if we're not fit for such menial tasks?

It used to be that house chores were the stuff of life. Hunting, gathering, sweeping out the mud and poo, crafting clothes and keeping the wild animals at bay.

I guess we're the lucky ones . . . adding art museums and literature, blockbuster hits and hiking trails to the mix.

Perhaps I need to remind myself that housework is IT. And the rest is just a bonus.

That's life. You eat, sleep, and make messes. And suddenly (as mommy-dom dawns) small, dependent people need a safe, peaceful, life-affirming environment. That means a clean, bug-free place to eat, a mold-free place to bathe, a trip-free place to walk, a chaos-free place to rest, an interesting place to learn, a fascinating place to play, and a beautiful place think and dream and discover.

Suddenly it's more than folding laundry or picking up toys or scrubbing a toilet . . . it's an act of love.

Housework: it's the way we care for our children. It's the ultimate gift -- peace, love, safety, beauty. It's a selfless act of time and energy. It's the stuff of life -- of health and survival. It's the job of all jobs . . . the hardest job you'll hardly love . . . the pinnacle of servanthood. The beginning and the end.

Perhaps that's what housework is all about.

I think I'll take the maid.

Something Has Happened

Something has happened.

Not so long ago, my days were spent in a roomy office surrounded by bright crayon drawings, scraps of fabric, melted down candles, piles of books, a Goodwill couch, handwritten songs, well-intentioned parents, seeking teenagers, and a to-do list as long as the endless Sahara desert.

Youth ministry was my life.

Nine years later, the crayon drawings belong to my three year old son, a shared office necessitated the abandonment of the couch, the songs are fewer, the piles are bigger, and the Sahara desert looks like a breeze compared to my to-do list.

Something has happened.

I got married. I had a child. I moved away from my roomy office and seeking teenagers. I began sharing a ministry job with my husband in a new church, in a new town, with new teenagers. I became a mommy again. Then, I turned around.

The hours I poured into ministry as a twenty-two year old are now spent somewhere else. You know, the typical young mother stuff -- endless housework, endless food prep, endless dishes, endless cleaning, small children with big needs . . . the usual.

The glitch is . . . family and youth ministry is also an endless occupation; a bottomless jug requiring tireless energy, bounteous time, and a willing and hopeful spirit.

And I'm at a loss for the answer to the question I can't quite ask.

Something has happened.

Motherhood.

Can ministry survive?