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By and Large, the Dishes Come First
Don’t you just love the parable of the woman looking for her lost piece of silver? (see Luke 15:8-9). She lights a candle so that every corner of her house is in view. My natural temptation would be to let the light remain dim as I began the task of cleaning my whole house. I would rather not face all the corners and edges I have neglected. But the point of the parable is that the woman is seeking something of value, something she has lost and is determined to find. The manner in which she works is important, and she is determined and hopeful that she will succeed. So the woman lights the room. Now she can see the hidden dust, the cobwebs, the stacks of things to be sorted and put away, and she begins to clean. She sweeps diligently and accepts the responsibility of the work on her own. I envision her like Snow White dusting, washing, and cleaning the cottage of the Seven Dwarfs, replacing the film of dust with shining surfaces and sweet fragrance. At last her labors are rewarded: she finds what she is looking for, and in the process her house has been cleaned and made perfect. In the parable, she finishes her work, and then comes the celebration. Immediately. The celebration is as much a part of the labor, and of the success, as the work itself. She calls in her neighbors and friends, and they rejoice together. Simply put, she gives a huge party. But the party was purchased by her labors. Her celebration is not just about the recovered piece of silver but about the whole process of living: work, home, family, friends, the bounties of the earth, and the achievement of a goal. Celebrating the event gave purpose, meaning, and lasting value to her work. This parable is a profound illustration of the way we should view both our labors and our joys. The party the woman gave was probably more fun than the housework (I’m not saying more satisfying, just more fun), and the celebration gave value and joy to the great effort of searching, cleaning, and finding. Basic order is essential for us to experience joy to create celebrations and happiness in our lives to the fullest extent. Work accomplished gives us feelings of personal worth and self-esteem. When we finish tasks, we feel capable and valued, empowered. We feel renewed confidence when we are able to achieve orderliness in our environment and responsibilities. With our labors under control, we are relieved of feelings of guilt or unworthiness when we make time for play and celebration. Peace of mind is an important ingredient of happiness. (Notice I said when our work is “under control,” not when it is “done.” Work is never finished. Individual jobs may be completed, but the dimension of work itself is a moving boundary that we never reach.) We should use work undone not as a rod of guilt but as a challenge. We need to believe in ourselves, believe that we are smarter than the work, more capable than the challenge, stronger and more important than any task. Then we can delight in work done, and fix our eyes on our accomplishments more than on our failings. It is important to recognize the unending nature of work. Many people believe they will be able to rejoice only when the work is “done.” The Lord does not expect that. Work is an eternal part of the process of living, even for the Lord. In Moses 1:39 we read that we are the Lord’s work and his glory, and in that familiar scripture is verified the fact that glory and work go hand in hand and are eternal. So we seek orderliness and control of our work, not the end of labor. Another way in which work is the foundation of celebration is that it provides the means by which we create celebratory events and activities. It provides the financial means, and it also supplies the planning and preparations necessary for successful happy times. Celebration means more to us when it is bought with anticipation, planning, effort, and sacrifice. Great celebration can only be created with great effort, just like the earth itself. The tumult of creation was followed by the sweet celebration of the heavens and the Lord’s joy: “It is good.” Anticipation as we labor to prepare is part of every wonderful celebration, and it intensifies our joy. When tasks are finished or laid aside in an orderly way, there is such a glorious sense of relief and satisfaction that the moment itself becomes a celebration. One of the best moments of a party is the pause before the guests arrive and you look at your house, shining and clean from your labors, the food on the buffet, the lights and candles, the flowers, the hush of anticipation waiting for joyous friends and the creation of new memories. The glow of work well done: the quiet, inward celebration before the celebration. Celebration needs the contrast of work, just as all other things need their opposites. Our family had an experience that vividly illustrates that principle. Several years ago we were invited, along with several thousand others, to the opening of the first Great America amusement park. What an incredible experience! As we stood with our twelve children waiting to be admitted to the park, our twelve-year-old son said, “I can’t wait for the gates to open, Mother. I think when those gates open, it will be the best thing that has ever happened in this world.” You see, for that one night, it was going to be just like Pleasure Island in Pinocchio. Everything was to be free. My son and his cousin, who was the same age, begged to be allowed to go at their own pace, wherever they wished. Because the amusement park was powerfully lighted and fenced, and everyone present was a guest, we gave them permission. Two happier boys have never run into a wonderland. Before them lay every ride, all the food they could eat, games, sights, and splendor. The party lasted from eight in the evening until midnight. We had arranged to meet the boys by the merry-go-round at a quarter to twelve. Of course, we saw them many times during the evening, always running to the next ride, their hands full of food, their eyes bright, eager, and a little greedy. At the end of the evening, as we watched tired families stream toward the exit gates, our two exhausted little boys, their faces stained with chocolate and mustard, their feet dragging, and their heads almost lolling with weariness, walked up to us. My son looked into my eyes. “I’ve learned something,” he told me. “You know how I said I thought the best thing in the whole world would be when those gates opened? Nothing but party and fun!” He pointed toward the large gates at the entrance. I nodded. “Well, now,” he said, “I think that the worst thing in this world would be if those gates closed and I couldn’t leave.” It was absolutely one of the best evenings of his childhood, but he had also learned that pleasure has a timer, and when the timer rings, it ceases to be fun. It is then time to return to those basic things that give fun its meaning. Work gives purpose and importance to life, and that sense of purpose in all that we do is what turns fun into something more meaningful into celebration. Especially for women, the feeling of joy is consistently muddied by the sense of work undone. We wear our housework on our backs like a heavy burden, and the constant pressure we feel concerning the state of our homes robs us of the joy and pleasure we should be feeling. For many of us, just opening our eyes in the morning brings an instant and oppressive realization of all the jobs that are waiting to pounce on us. Before our feet even touch the floor we are feeling overwhelmed and under the gun. The thought of making life a celebration, of feeling joy, delight, interest, or happiness, seems like just one more job we have to do. No, thank you! we think. We put our heads down and work away, trying to do three jobs at once, snapping at the children to do their part, and worrying about the things that are slipping between the cracks. Our lives feel like a too-full basket of laundry we are trying to carry down a steep stairway, and things are just slipping and sliding and leaving a trail behind us. I have found I need to do two things to control those oppressive feelings. The first is to look more consistently at what I have done than at what I have not done. No one else has to recognize what I have accomplished; it is enough that I do. The second thing is to realize that I have power over my own work. It is my opportunity to decide what needs to be done, and when, and how. I am the planner and the doer; and if things need to be changed or done better or differently, I have the power to think it through, to use my own initiative and decision. For me, it was a day of celebration when I realized that a good deal of my work (not all of it, of course, but much of it) was my own choice. That sense of ownership of my work made homemaking seem more of a privilege, something to celebrate, and less like a punishment or an endless mountain I had to climb. Most of us need to get rid of that “house mother” we carry around in our heads. You know the one; she judges everything we do (or don’t do) and finds it wanting. Hers is the voice that says: “You must vacuum every day,” or, “No one can come in unless your house is spotless,” or, “You can’t go for a walk if the laundry isn’t done,” or, “Don’t let anyone know that sometimes you serve cold cereal for supper.” I don’t know where this omnipresent arbiter with all her “musts” and “must nots” comes from. I suspect she is the echo of our mothers’ voices from Saturday chores, but I also imagine that most of our mothers would be much less demanding and harsh than the voices in our heads that seem to judge and drive us. If we are to use our work as the basis of a happier life, we have to take responsibility for it ourselves. We should begin to free ourselves from that overharsh internal voice. We set our own standards, make judgments, set priorities, and decide what needs to be done, what can be done, and how it shall be done. Valuing what we do and evaluating it creatively can bring us greater satisfaction. One of my favorite stories tells of a village in Vietnam where the women had for centuries swept the floors and the streets with short-handled brooms. An American doctor noted that the women of that village were bent almost double, shuffling in exhausted old age by their early forties. As a scientist he was curious. Was it some rare form of osteoporosis? Was it their diet? Was it genetic? What caused this premature deformity? He spent several days observing the life of the village, watching as the women spent hours sweeping the mud and dirt of the fields and jungles from their doorsteps. He noted the awkward, stooping position they had to assume as they swept with their short-handled brooms, doing their assigned task of keeping the streets and houses of the village clean. Finally the doctor asked an old woman, “Why do you sweep that way?” “We have always used these brooms,” she replied. “My mother, and her mother, and her mother before that. For as long as we have been a people. It is our tradition.” The doctor gathered up the village brooms and replaced them with long-handled brooms. Some of the women resisted the change. For some the new method of sweeping was difficult because they felt it was not right for them to stand comfortably upright when they were sweeping. It was too easy. They were meant to suffer. The wiser women, however, immediately saw how much better they could do their job faster, more simply, with less effort and more control. What a simple thing! Long-handled brooms changed lives of drudgery and despair into lives of dignity and health. But I ask myself, why on earth didn’t those women stop and analyze their job generations ago? They had the intellect and the power to have changed that terribly debilitating task themselves, but not one of those women had paused in her “duties” to stand back and analyze how her work could be done better, more joyfully, or with more sense of purpose. All of us need to discover ways to put long-handled brooms into our own lives. In some ways we are all sweeping with short-handled brooms and feeling unnecessarily stressed and tired as a result. The secret to making our work a part of celebration is not to work harder but to find ways to add joy to the work we are doing, to claim our work with a greater sense of ownership and vigor. A happily examined life can help us look at the things we do (regardless of our current life situation) and realize that we have power within us to do things better. We do not need to do more, just do what we are already doing in a more satisfying way. We need to create grace notes of celebration in the pattern of our work. We need to feel in our minds that our work is ours to control. We are not controlled by it; we are not mindless. When my husband and I have bought new houses (which we have done more often than most because of the nature of my husband’s career) I always say I need a home I can hold in my mind in one thought. I have to be able, in one image, to see the whole of the house in my mind and to know that I am capable of taking care of the entire home from edge to edge. I have to think my house through. One excellent means of relieving ourselves of the guilt and stress of our labors is to develop habits of swift and consistent order. (Most of the illustrations I use involve housework, but the same principles apply to most work: career, community, volunteer, church, artistic.) When basic, habitual, daily order is established, then the rest of work can be balanced, performed, scheduled, prioritized, or dealt with expeditiously. A sense of basic order is fundamental. Here are a few tricks that have helped me establish that order. • Make your bed the minute you rise, without thought, just as matter-of-factly as you brush your teeth. • When you remove clothes, do not let them touch any surface but the place where they belong: hanger, drawer, laundry hamper, wherever. This same principle applies to mail and to laundry. Sort, stack, and discard on the spot. Try not to handle more than once anything that needs to be put away. • Do dishes the same way. Clean up pots and implements as you prepare the meal. The minute the meal is finished, rinse and stack dishes in the machine, or wash them in hot, sudsy water, rinse in hotter water, wipe dry, and put away. Your kitchen is clean and ready for the next meal in just a few minutes. If you stack the dishes in a drainer by the sink they may be clean, but they create clutter and represent an unfinished job. When you begin the next meal, the full dish drainer is usually still in the way. It takes only minutes to wipe the dishes and put them in the cupboard. Putting the dishes away immediately takes about half the time it takes to stack them, wait, and then finally put them away, that way you are handling them three times instead of once. Actually, I almost always do the dishes by hand for this reason, even though I have a dishwasher. The Finnish people understand this principle. They have created cupboards with slotted racks and open slats on the bottom (over the sink) so that the washed dishes drain right in the cupboard. They have eliminated an entire step of the process. • Work smarter, faster, more effectively. Analyze, set better priorities, and identify methods you use out of habit that are not truly productive. Part of the joy of creating our home is that we have the right to choose how we want our home to be. If we are unhappy or uncomfortable about the way our home looks, or the way in which we are maintaining it, then we must learn to believe that we are capable of making improvements. In that belief, anticipation and effort can be real sources of happiness. The smallest improvement can create a sense of great celebration. An entire garden begins with one primrose. If you would feel joy in your home, do not think of all the things you wish you could have; concentrate on what you can do to make things as they really are just a little better. For example, a young student couple moved into their first home, a tiny, old pioneer house. The house seemed dark and old-fashioned to them, but they had no money to spend. With energy and a feeling of celebration, they pulled up the worn, ugly carpeting and discovered solid oak floors underneath. It took effort and time, but they sanded the floors, refinished them, and painted the walls of the house, and it became a splendid celebration of their dreams. We should not let our failings, mistakes, or inadequacies discourage us. We are all in training; in fact, that is part of the fun. As long as I have lived I have felt the thrill of discovery as I have become aware of ways to improve how I do things. And I don’t blame myself for things I don’t know or have not done well. I figure I just have plenty of room left for learning. For example, in the last two months I have learned how to make crustless quiche; I have found out how to roll out pie dough in plastic wrap, eliminating the mess; I have discovered that you should never carry a grocery bag with a bleach bottle in it across a carpet; I have just found out how to be a better mother to married children by thinking with praise; I have learned to write better by breaking old patterns; the list goes on and on. I rejoice in the lessons my work teaches me. The following ideas are tools I have identified that help me keep my work and my life in basic order: 1. Identify the real problem. If something is troubling me about my home, it does not mean that I need to completely overhaul it. It does not mean that everything is wrong, that I am doing nothing right. It might simply mean that there is one thing out of control. I think of one young mother who was always embarrassed when the visiting teachers came. “My house is such a mess!” she confided. I had been in her home. Of course there were toys on the floor from her toddlers, but the house was well-kept (and I personally think toys represent great homemaking). As I talked with her she mentioned her frustration that there were always sticky handprints and dog-prints on the glass panes of her front door. It was the first thing people saw, and it made her ashamed. The solution was easy. She decided to keep a small bottle of window cleaner by the front door, and first thing in the morning and last thing at night she whisked over the glass. Her front door sparkled. Nothing else was different, but in an instant her perception of herself as a homemaker was changed. One good thing about celebratory change is that it can be done in small increments, in the midst of our daily life. Celebration is not the wardrobe of life, but it is the ribbon in the hair, the string of pearls, the flowers on the table, the grace notes that make the whole a delight. 2. Deal with each task directly. Sometimes we imagine we can put pending work out of our minds, but even when we think we have put off thinking about it, it hovers in our mind like a dark cloud. A better way to handle work is to deal with it as quickly as possible. There are three ways of dealing with a pending task: Do it. Plan it. Discard or delegate it. I was a visitor in a ward for a few weeks recently, and I met a most remarkable woman who understood the principle of “do it.” She introduced herself to us, invited us to dinner, planned an afternoon activity for another day, and organized a group of women to meet me. Hers was a wonderful home, filled with all the evidence of a vibrant, active family, and yet filled also with a sense of order and accomplishment. When we went there for dinner I watched as she prepared the meal for us and her sizable family with swift, efficient hands. There was remarkable effortlessness in her manner as she simply did each task in an orderly fashion. The table was already set when we arrived, the vegetables were washed and ready, and the chicken was prepared for the grill. For dessert we had fresh rhubarb preserves on ice cream. It struck me that this woman was the kind of person who, when the rhubarb was ripe, would not agonize, “Oh no, the rhubarb’s ripe, and I’m so busy this week. How can I possibly find time to process it!” That would have been my complaint. But this remarkable woman would simply “do it.” With matter-of-fact swiftness she would harvest, clean, and bottle the rhubarb, even if it meant a night or two of “working with a candle.” When something rises high enough in priority that it is in our minds and pressing on us constantly, the most joyful thing is simply to get it done and celebrate its completion. The second alternative in dealing with a task is to plan when to do it. Many jobs hang over us like a nagging toothache: “I must get the windows washed.” “I must get the ironing done.” “My personal files are in complete disarray; I’ve got to get them organized.” “I must go visit Aunt Lyla.” Weeks go by, and the task looms over all our daily necessities. We may have absolutely no time to do that task, but it still nags away at us and spoils everything we are doing. The way to remove such work from shadowing our happiness is to plan when we will do it. It is a remarkable phenomenon that specifically and definitely planning something gives us almost as much relief as getting it done. Assign the day and the hours you will spend washing the windows two weeks from now. Write it down on your calendar as if it were any other appointment. Suddenly the grimy windows no longer nag or hang over you. You know that they are going to be cleaned. Planning our work gives us power over our own agenda, and nothing gives more satisfaction in any kind of enterprise. When we plan the work, we are in charge of the job; the job is no longer in charge of us. That is empowerment, and it is essential to our feelings of celebration. The third choice when we confront a task that is confronting us is to discard or delegate it. Once I had a basket of ironing. My six little girls wore fluffy, full-skirted dresses and cotton blouses with puffed sleeves; this was in addition to the handkerchiefs, pillowcases, boys’ shirts, tablecloths, and all the other sundry things we used to iron weekly in the years before permanent press. At the end of one long afternoon of ironing, I had finished most of the basket. The dresses, shirts, and linens were hung and stacked around the room, a great celebration of work accomplished. I was tired, but there were still several items at the bottom of the basket: dresses that were torn or had missing buttons, things the children seldom wore or had outgrown. “Well,” I thought (using my second method of handling a task), “I’ll just plan to do the rest next week.” Even though I had done a huge amount of ironing, I was not feeling much satisfaction. I continued to stare at the items I had not ironed. I realized that those same clothes had been in the bottom of the basket for months, possibly for more than a year! It dawned on me that this pile of clothes had accumulated over many ironing days. The reason I had not ironed them was that they were basically unwearable, and ironing wasn’t going to make them any more wearable. Some misguided inner voice had been telling me I “ought” to iron them. With a moment’s reflection I realized that if we had gone without those clothes for more than a year, we could obviously do without them for good. I tore up the bottom-of-the-basket clothes for cleaning rags and put them in my broom cupboard. For the first time in months my ironing basket was completely empty, and I felt great! When discarding or delegating, (jettisoning) a job is appropriate, do not hesitate to do so. When we are homemakers, we also must consider the attitudes and needs of our husbands and children. Husbands come in all varieties, as do children, and our work is influenced by their expectations and demands. The arts of negotiation and consideration are important aspects of our job. As we perform, plan, and discard or delegate our tasks, we should be certain that we have considered our relationships with others. We will probably encounter differences of opinion or feelings that labor is not fairly shared. We need to learn to organize, to negotiate, and to express our feelings and approaches to the tasks that must be performed. Relationships can definitely affect the way in which we work and how we feel about it, and some of those issues might take time to resolve. Still, the principles of work should improve our ability to perform our labors and to create an atmosphere of order, no matter what pressures and challenges we face in our individual circumstances. Try making small improvements in your approach and methods, and you will be surprised what a building thing even small increments of change can be. 3. Use better tools. Hunt for the best bathroom cleaner you can find, one that does the scrubbing for you and removes the mildew and soap scum through cleanser reaction. Keep looking until you find it. Let hot water and time work on your side. Soak food-encrusted pans and stained objects. Use rubber gloves so that you can use stronger cleansers and hotter water. Use sharper knives, a good vacuum (a really good vacuum can do bare floors as well as carpet, and cleans better than a broom), good laundry detergents, and heavy-duty, quality pots and pans. Purchase them one at a time if necessary. A good pan will save its cost in food that is not burned or ruined. 4. Listen and learn from others in your profession. Don’t be reluctant to talk about your work. When you see a job that is wonderfully well done, ask questions about the methods, tools, and approaches used to accomplish it. I have learned a few things from asking or observing other women: how to remove spots on the carpet with club soda; how to plant bare-root roses (what a great experience that was. I thought, as I did it, “Plant a stick, get a stick,” but just as I was promised by my friend, the bushes grew and bloomed gloriously); how to use pattern and color in my house; how to hang pictures; how to arrange flowers; how to organize my linen closet; how to use a computer more effectively; and dozens of other ways to accomplish work more joyfully. 5. Turn work itself into celebration. Learn ways to make work more fun, both mentally and actually. I do absolutely love to work. I love the touch, the feel, the effort, and the completion of my labors. Some jobs I like better than others, but there are elements of celebration in everything I do. In contemplating the symbiotic relationship of joy and work, I wrote the following poem. AN UNFINISHED WOMAN Here am I, Lord, The dishes barely done and night long since fallen, The children would not go to bed And would not go and Would not go— And now they are gone. Gone to places of their own with children of their own Who will not go to bed and will not go . . . And I have taught them what I could and They have learned the things they would And now they’ve gone their way alone to learn the rest Most on their own. And I remain, not half spent. And I remain, not yet content, So much to do, so much to learn, So much to feel, so much to yearn. My past mistakes make stepping-stones, Not millstones great around my neck but Stones to guide my searching feet— And I must search; I’m incomplete. I watch my years go tumbling by And I must use them better, I Have yet so much to learn and do Before I can return to You. The hour is late. The night comes on, My celestial self I would become. Ah! What wisdom thou gavest to mortal life— I, As sister, mother, daughter, wife— In earthly roles have seen Thy face. In my womanly life Thy heavenly place Is taught through humble tasks and pain. So, if royal robes I would obtain, To wear as all Thy glories burst— I’ll need to do the laundry first. One of the sweetest things about work is that when we live with the habits of basic order, we can occasionally give ourselves permission to play truant from daily chores. Once in a while it is a source of sheer celebratory joy to run out of the house with our children to catch the morning breeze at the beach, or kick the soccer ball at the park, or go to see the new puppies at the neighbors’, leaving the dishes in the sink, the laundry in the hamper, and the cobwebs in the corners. Work will hold, but certain opportunities for joy are as brief as the wink of a firefly and must be grasped on the instant. A life of basic order gives us the courage to make the choice to fly free because we know our string is tethered.
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Today's date: September 5, 2008
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