Dirty Dustmop

Saturdays are house cleaning days. Tub cleaning. Bathroom scrubbing. Vacuuming. Laundry. Dusting.

Ah, dusting. I despise dusting. I detest dusting. I plain and simply, hate dusting.

I blame my mom.

When I was a kid, my sisters and I were assigned weekly chores. My chore, among others was - you guessed it - dusting. Now that I think back to those days, it really couldn't have been that big of a deal. We had a family room, living room and dining room, but I really don't remember much about the actual chore of dusting. I guess I developed the loathing due to the fact that dusting was my weekly "have to do."

Fast forward to present day. Since dusting is the dreaded chore, I've tried various methods. I've tried the polish and wipe approach. That is way too time consuming. I've tried the dry Swiffer cloth with its dust-grabbing fibers. This works well but involves too much bending and the texture of the cloth bugs me. My current method involves a microfiber hand held dust mop. This method is simple and quick and much to my liking.


There is one draw back. The instructions supplied with my duster recommend cleaning the removable duster in soapy water. In my opinion, having to wash the duster after use kinda defeats the purpose of "quick and easy." Unfortunately, this fact alone makes it extremely easy for me to disregard the washing step. And, as you can guess, this is NOT a smart idea.

And so it was, that this past Saturday, I lost the war on dust. I pushed the limits and I knew it. I thought, or maybe hoped, I could get one more dusting from my visibly dirty duster. Nada. Nope. Didn't happen. By the time I reached my loft railing, my duster was actually spreading dust instead of picking it up. My loathing, my hastiness, and my lack of following directions did me in.



Sin is my life's dust. It builds up in the blink of an eye. And boy, does it need cleaning. I know for a fact that my sin demands more than a weekly cleaning. A daily scrubbing won't even suffice. I'm sure my sin probably needs several cleanings per hour!

The thing is: I'm not able to wipe myself clean. Confessing my sin to my husband, or a friend, won't take my sin away. Nope. Only one method will make me squeaky clean. I need to go to the One. The One who took the humongous weight of my sin, your sin; in fact the sin of the entire world to ensure my cleanliness.

Jesus. My Savior.

Spit on. Cursed at. Beaten. Tortured. Kicked. Dragged. Nailed, yes nailed to a cross. Crucified. For me. A wretch. Unworthy.

As we enter into Holy Week, the words of Isaiah 53 bring me to my knees in thanksgiving:

2-6 "The servant grew up before God—a scrawny seedling,
    a scrubby plant in a parched field.
There was nothing attractive about him,
    nothing to cause us to take a second look.
He was looked down on and passed over,
    a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
    We looked down on him, thought he was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
    our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
    that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
    that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
    Through his bruises we get healed.
We’re all like sheep who’ve wandered off and gotten lost.
    We’ve all done our own thing, gone our own way.
And God has piled all our sins, everything we’ve done wrong,
    on him, on him.."

Jesus took my dirt. He wipes away even the deepest yuck. And I'm clean...oh I'm clean.