I cleaned my kitchen floor this week for the first time.
We've lived here for two years.
I've swept, run the Wet-Jet, and done a little spot polish, but this was the real deal. On the knees, scrubbing until my wrist went numb. I don't have to tell you about the chocolate milk or maple syrup or the under oven catch-all. It wasn't pretty, but it was real.
As I scrubbed, I thought about the life that's happened in that little room.
I'm glad the floors can't talk. If they could, they'd remind me of the times we let the devil in.
How we've torn one another down in front of the sink. Or the tears I've dropped next to the oven. If the floors could talk, they’d remind me of my failures.
How I've never tried hard enough. Never kept them clean enough. Which, then, naturally leads into a conversation about what kind of mother I am. Not quite good enough.
If they could talk, my floors might speak of the passage of time. How already two years of my life are over. And what, they'd ask, have you accomplished in these two years of life. If we’re any indication, it’s been pretty pathetic.
But, my floors can't talk. And, I'm glad. Because while there were a lot of tough stains, none were too sticky for my Savior. He's washed these two years clean and given shine to a once dull heart. One that's failed. One who let the milk spill and didn’t have the strength to mop it up. My willing Savior whispers joy and points me to the grace that's fallen over these two years. Expensive and expansive, constant grace and mercy that's overflowed and covered. And it's what makes this small room and its floor His territory.
So, I'm on my knees on the kitchen floor. Thanking the Savior for the chocolate milk and maple syrup. For the life that's happened in this little room. And for the Life that's made it all redeemable.
Now a leper came to Him, imploring Him, kneeling down to Him and saying to Him, “If you are willing, You can make me clean.” Then Jesus, moved with compassion, stretched out His hand and touched him, and said to him, “I am willing; be cleansed.” (Mark 1:40-41)
Author: Melissa Bronson