Serving whom?

I’m reading a book a second time. Well, kind of. I got halfway through this book over a year ago, but realized when I tried to pick it up, I’d forgotten most of what I’d read way back then. So I’m starting over and glad to be doing so.

Last week I posted about mom guilt and the impossible task of keeping up with this house. I can work day and night to clean it, but the job is never done. It’s not that we’re vermin who habitually leave trails of filth and disorder; it’s just that we are living, breathing human beings. Oh, and half the household is under five and lacks the desire to put things away or tell an adult when jelly toast gets mashed into the carpet. Isn’t there some law of science that says all things naturally go from order to disorder?

But it’s also about perspective. The more I clean, the more I find that needs to be cleaned. When toys and books are strewn everywhere, I don’t notice how much dust has collected on the windowsills or hardwood floors. I mop and dust only to find clean floors make the slipcovers look dirty. I wash and iron the slipcovers, thinking I’m finally done, then discover a spot on the curtains, dust on the blinds and a suspicious sticky something three feet high on all the doorframes. Everything I clean shines a light on something that could be cleaner. It’s exhausting.

Back to the book. One of the beginning chapters talks about two types of housekeepers. The first needs everything to be spotless. Her house is immaculate, always ready for entertaining. She works hard to keep it that way and takes great pride in showing and sharing her home with others. Then there’s her neighbor who is so overwhelmed by keeping her home neat that she just can’t get it together. She tries really hard, but simply accepts that her house will be a perpetual mess as long as she lives there. According to the author, Cheryl Carter, these two ladies have one thing in common: they are both serving their homes rather than allowing their homes to serve them.

At the risk of sounding like a Brady, I never thought about it like that.

When I clean my house, I think I’m serving my guests, my husband, my family. And yes, I am doing that, but when the need for perfection in every corner consumes my time and energies, I’m not serving anyone but this dwelling. How many times have I made this clear to my children? “I can’t play until the laundry is done.” “We can’t have friends over until the house is clean.” “Do you see these dishes? I promise I’ll read to you after these are cleaned and put away.” I’ve become a slave to my house.

Don’t get me wrong. There are times when these chores need to be a priority. I just wonder if, perhaps, my intense battle over home management stems from serving the wrong master.

Rick went to a ballgame a couple weeks ago. He was out late, so I took the opportunity to make the house shine. Ten o’clock that night found me on hands and knees washing the bathroom floor. When is the last time I put forth that much determination in my devotions? Would I stay up to that hour to read my Bible? Or pray? Whom am I serving really?