Vacuuming in the Dark
The Man is in the kitchen working on tax stuff and budgeting because he is awesome, and I am sitting in the living room moaning and groaning, because I seriously think lugging Tiny around is compressing my spine, and thinking about chocolate. Don't judge. We can't all be as cool as he is. Meanwhile, from the boys' room, I keep hearing snippets of conversation, mostly Littles conversing with the Thomas plush toy my wonderful Mom-in-love sent that says deep thoughts such as, "I've run out of steam" and "We've been really useful today." It also plays a really creepy lullaby version of the Thomas theme song. Naturally, Littles loves it. Also naturally, I've begun having nightmares about Thomas. Just kidding. Kind of.
Anyway, all this is very exciting to you, I'm sure, but I'll get to the actual point of this post now and tell you that after my extensive housekeeping career I've finally realized how hard it is to vacuum in the dark. Let me rephrase, it's not hard, but it's kind of a waste of time. I learned this the hard way. Of course. Is there any other way to learn something of value?
Let me explain: our hall is windowless. All the bedrooms open onto it, and, well, you can figure this out. It's not rocket science. No windows. That's the point. A couple of weeks ago I decided I was going to fit in a quick vacuum while dinner cooked--multitasking at its finest--and I got on that. I didn't think about the fact that the sun was quickly sinking below the horizon and I hadn't turned on a single lamp. I was zeroed in. Vacuuming was the goal, and vacuuming was going to be accomplished (so help me). Besides, it's not like you have to see to vacuum. Just cover the ground, and the vacuum should do the rest, right?
Yeah, no.
About halfway through, my helpful oldest son flipped on the hall light for me, and I saw all the junk I'd managed to miss. Part of it was I was in a rush, part of it was that my vacuum isn't the greatest and I sometimes (frequently) have to pick things up by hand, and the rest of it was that I just couldn't see what I was doing. So I started over again. This time with the lights on.
And that's when it hit me that vacuuming in the dark is such a phenomenal analogy for trying to live morally without Jesus (really, trying to do anything without Jesus). We think we're making a difference, covering our bases, checking items off our list, and we might be getting some stuff accomplished, but when the lights flip on, we're left with dirty carpet. We need to see what we're doing, working in the light of who Christ is and what He is doing in us, before any change is worthwhile.
This is what I'm thinking about. I'm learning that I can think I'm doing all the right things, and they're really just not worth very much if I've missed the point (if I would just flip the light on!). And yes, I do feel like I'm sounding a bit broken recordish these days, but I have to keep learning the same lessons over and over again, just in slightly different ways.
On that note, unbelievably, Littles might have actually fallen asleep so I think I'll go harass the Man until he stops being productive and decides to hang out with me instead. Good idea, huh?
Anyway, all this is very exciting to you, I'm sure, but I'll get to the actual point of this post now and tell you that after my extensive housekeeping career I've finally realized how hard it is to vacuum in the dark. Let me rephrase, it's not hard, but it's kind of a waste of time. I learned this the hard way. Of course. Is there any other way to learn something of value?
Let me explain: our hall is windowless. All the bedrooms open onto it, and, well, you can figure this out. It's not rocket science. No windows. That's the point. A couple of weeks ago I decided I was going to fit in a quick vacuum while dinner cooked--multitasking at its finest--and I got on that. I didn't think about the fact that the sun was quickly sinking below the horizon and I hadn't turned on a single lamp. I was zeroed in. Vacuuming was the goal, and vacuuming was going to be accomplished (so help me). Besides, it's not like you have to see to vacuum. Just cover the ground, and the vacuum should do the rest, right?
Yeah, no.
About halfway through, my helpful oldest son flipped on the hall light for me, and I saw all the junk I'd managed to miss. Part of it was I was in a rush, part of it was that my vacuum isn't the greatest and I sometimes (frequently) have to pick things up by hand, and the rest of it was that I just couldn't see what I was doing. So I started over again. This time with the lights on.
And that's when it hit me that vacuuming in the dark is such a phenomenal analogy for trying to live morally without Jesus (really, trying to do anything without Jesus). We think we're making a difference, covering our bases, checking items off our list, and we might be getting some stuff accomplished, but when the lights flip on, we're left with dirty carpet. We need to see what we're doing, working in the light of who Christ is and what He is doing in us, before any change is worthwhile.
This is what I'm thinking about. I'm learning that I can think I'm doing all the right things, and they're really just not worth very much if I've missed the point (if I would just flip the light on!). And yes, I do feel like I'm sounding a bit broken recordish these days, but I have to keep learning the same lessons over and over again, just in slightly different ways.
On that note, unbelievably, Littles might have actually fallen asleep so I think I'll go harass the Man until he stops being productive and decides to hang out with me instead. Good idea, huh?
