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with Kathleen Gibson September 17, 2008 Get down and dirty with God�you�ll come up clean I skipped church a few weeks ago. Now that I�m not Mrs. Pastor anymore I have license to do that, like other lay people. I did it for no good reason other than I was desperate for God. For grace. The Preacher was away. We�d spoken in a different church each week for months on end, but that Sunday my soul craved different fare. I hungered for my constant; for the stable, sure thing that has long ushered me through circumstances jagged, wearying, and soul searing. I needed to get into a position where I could find God and be renewed. Besides, my floor was dirty. It seemed a fortunate collusion. I�ve found God�s hands often, swirling about beside mine in dirty washwater, and every so often we touch. I shoved aside the table and flipped the chairs upside down on top of it, just like Mother used to. I rolled up the area rugs, stashed them in a bedroom, took the laundry baskets out of the bathroom, hoisted out the disability bench, and began. Our linoleum is white, mostly, except when it�s grey. And it�s full of dibbits, dents, scratches and grooves. A floor like that beckons dirt like carrion seduces flies. Anyway, it hadn�t been washed for months. I mean really washed. Swiffas don�t thoroughly clean a floor. Neither do Bee Mops. I should know�I have both. They just push around the dirt, never genuinely deal with it. For dirt like mine, I needed something efficient. I filled a bucket, got out a stiff scrubber and a cloth, and got down on my knees. In that posture I remained for several hours. Scrubbing. Praying. Singing. Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty�My faith looks up to thee� I watched that surface, trodden by so many beloved soiled soles, slowly come clean. As it did, God used his own scrubbing agent on a soul also scratched and dented, and much in need of cleansing. My own. And the stereo played� �Healin� rain, is comin� down. It�s comin� nearer to this old town. It�s comin� closer to the lost and found. Healin� rain, it comes with fire, so let it fall and take us higher. Healin� rain, I�m not afraid to be washed in heaven�s rain� What happened during those hours on my knees was worth more than a five-week month of Sundays. After I scrubbed, washed, and dried that floor, I polished it. I polished myself all the way into the bathroom. Right up to the tub, where I ran a bath, stepped into the bubbles, then leaned out and polished the spot where I�d just stood. I forgot something. A steamy bathroom isn�t optimal for rapid-drying a newly polished floor. I stayed in that tub a long while, surrounded by clean, inside and out. Stayed there until the floor dried. I relaxed, and nearly slept. Washed in healin� rain. Washed forever in Jesus� name. Scrubbed bare, finally at ease. It�s the only position of grace. �2008, Kathleen Gibson Respond Home |
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