Clean and White
I got a ton of them for wedding gifts and have used them--tons--since I got married WAAAYYY back in 2000. And it just hit me a few weeks ago: these things were disgusting! They were discolored, threadbare, and simply worn out.
(Those of you who know me well know that I am not observant. It literally took a hole in the middle of one of my "good" kitchen towels to make this observation.)
So I asked my mother-in-law to be on the lookout for some "new" kitchen towels for me at a yard sale. [She is a die-hard yard saler, and I love getting stuff for pennies.]
The next time she came over, she delivered a box full of kitchen towels. And they weren't just better than mine. They weren't just newer than the old ones I had.
They were beautiful.
You might doubt that yard sale kitchen towels could be described as beautiful, but these really were. They were huge and thin and perfectly white. As I pulled them out of the box, I couldn't help but smile.
[I also thought, "I wonder if she could make a skirt for me out of these!" but figured I was just channeling my inner Maria Von Trapp.]
So for a few weeks now, washing dishes has been a joy with my perfectly chalky towels. And when I finish drying, I spread the towel out over the clean dishes, knowing that the white cotton cloth makes the entire kitchen more beautiful.
Until last Thursday morning. I was cleaning out the coffee filter after enjoying a delicious cup of Costa Rican coffee and accidentally let the few drops of coffee hanging out inside the filter drip onto the gorgeous white cloth.
It looked so terrible. Perfectly pure white cotton with six drops of coffee-brown liquid right in the center. I just knew it would be ruined, or at best dingy, after this mistake. I mean, how could a perfect white ever be truly white after being so darkly stained.
So I did the only thing I could think to do: I scrubbed it under cold water. [Thanks, mom, for teaching me how to remove stains.] It was like magic. Within five seconds, the coffee was gone. GONE. Totally and completely gone.
My cloth was perfectly white again. And I know why it worked: because I got to it instantly. The stain didn't set, didn't spread, and didn't soak into the fibers.
Instant cleaning kept the stains away.
My mind went to something I had been preaching to my Sunday School class--and myself--for the past few weeks: the importance of confession. With every sin, our souls become a little more stained, just like coffee dropping on a perfectly white kitchen towel. And the ease of cleaning out that sin depends on how long we let it sit there.
Let me say that again: the ease of cleaning out that sin depends on how long we let it sit there.
Just the other night, I let a few words slip out of my mouth to my sweet husband right before bedtime. They weren't evil or lies or intended to be hurtful, but they were selfish and defensive. As soon as I lay down to go to sleep, I jumped right back up, went to him, and said, "I'm sorry I was defensive." Soul clean. Stain gone. Instantly white.
But I am not always so quick to confess, to God or myself or to others. In fact, many times I'm like my favorite white tank top.
[Insert: I call it my white tank top because it was originally white. But I thought I had "lost" it for a few days because every time I looked in my closet it wasn't there. It actually was there, but it was so dingy it looked grey.]
This tank top is right at 8 years old. This $5 tank top (that actually cost $2.50 because it was buy-one-get-one-free) has defied all expectations of polyester. I wore it through two pregnancies and for going on six years since then. It hasn't shrunk, hasn't stretched, and still has most of its original shape. It's the perfect length at the bottom and the perfect cover at the top. If you've ever seen me in a plain white tank top, that was it.
Which explains why it was grey-ish.
So in light of the ideas of being white and clean and confessing, I set out to get my white tank top, well, white. I let it soak in a washer full of oxy-clean and washed it in hot water. I soaked it in peroxide and water. I used stain remover on the whole thing and washed it in a load of whites.
It's better, but not white like the kitchen towels.
And I know the problem: 8 years of wear and tear, 8 years of splatters, 8 years of detergent build-up and grime.
I will get it white, but it's gonna take some work.
Much like my soul. When I allow the Holy Spirit to do His work in me and I confess my sins--to myself, to God, and to others--instantly, I feel as white as snow. But when I let sins sit for a while, I get dingy. And the more I've thought over this and prayed over this, the more sins God has brought to my mind. They're deep. Set-in. Stubborn stains.
But I'm cleaning them out. I'm confessing, I'm seeking God's word, and I'm choosing not just to confess but repent, agreeing with God that it is a sin and choosing to change my pattern of belief and speech and actions so that I don't do it again.
You need to do the same, you know.
Confession isn't just something we do at salvation. It's not just something we do when we blow it big time. It should be a part of our every-morning worship with God. It should be part of our thoughts and prayers.
David talked about it in Psalm 51:
Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.
Cleanse me with hyssop, and I will be clean;
wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.
Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
(verses 1-2, 7, 10, NIV)
Let's try it today. Make confession part of your morning or evening routine. Ask God what His Word says about your sin and your mouth and your heart and your mind. Tell Him He is right and ask Him to cleanse you as you choose to seek Him and obey.
Be a kitchen towel. Not a tank top.
@leslienotebook
myleslienotebook@gmail.com
Thank you so much for sharing and liking and forwarding and spreading the word. You help me bless.
Comments
Post a Comment