(A Little Dirty Laundry: painting by Tilly Strauss)
After returning home yesterday evening from an event at our local pool, I spent much of the night awake with a sick stomach. My husband slept on the downstairs sofa while I traversed from our bedroom to the bathroom. He awoke me this morning to let me know that a travel baseball game has been rescheduled for this morning. He was leaving now with L. And, he told me, the washing machine died.
He graciously offered to go to the laundromat this afternoon, between the game and a 5:30 Mass, but could I please sort out which dirty laundry is the priority?
I finally settled back into sleep. About an hour later, our teen barged into the bedroom without knocking to let me know he was heading to work. He told me how the washing machine has died and that when he returns he will help me sort laundry.
I fell back to sleep again. I just woke up and was startled by the sight of our first floor as I headed downstairs. This is not my life as I imagine it.
I had an idea about how Sunday would go and what it would look like.
Instead of my image of a relaxing Sunday, I saw pages of the Sunday New York Times and our local Sunday newspaper strewn across the family room floor, as well as sofa cushions and piles of clean laundry. The kitchen sink is full of dishes, some of them still encrusted with food. I have missed Sunday morning Mass. My stomach felt a little less queasy so I headed to the refrigerator for a glass of orange juice only to discover that someone had left the door ajar and there are fruit flies hovering over the fruit.
I don't know why at this point in my life I still expect life to go the way I plan. Why do I experience reality as a disruption, an interruption in my script?
Example: The plan was we four were going to go to a morning Mass together, then enjoy a leisurely Sunday afternoon. In other words, I had figured out my place in the sun for the day.
Father Carrón reminds us: "No place in the sun is sufficient for an “I” conscious of its need, because a person like this knows where to find rest, a rest that meets the measure of her need, and is the only one that truly rests and refreshes: “For Thou hast made us for Thyself and our hearts are restless till they rest in Thee.” The more human beings are conscious that only He can constitute their true rest, the more they are. They cannot help being flooded with emotion at the fact that God exists."
But I realize now that despite my plans and preconceptions, God has been with me all along. He is present as I face this laundry, this illness and these unwashed dishes.