My dryer is broken.

One day I ran to the screeching and threw open the door to find our load of laundry torn and blackened and ruined.

Over the years, we have ordered parts for this problem, fixed it, ordered more parts, fixed it…

But this time, we are just letting it sit. Broken.

We think it may be time for a new one.

I have the woodstove, I say to my Love, and the clothes will dry pretty quickly until we get a new dryer. I don’t use a dryer for everything anyway, I say.

We will save on electricity this Winter, too, until it gets warm enough to hang the clothes outside, I say to him, so let’s not try to get a new one quite yet. We have other things we need to take care of and pay for first.

And so I started hanging clothes downstairs on drying racks and on the back of chairs and wherever I could find an elevated spot near the drying warmth of the woodfire.

{I smile when I say:: It kind of adds to the going-back-in-time-homeschooling-breadmaking-working-in-the-home thing we’ve got going on… and it makes me chuckle and makes him tease me when I laugh about it.}

So, everyday, I do at least a load of laundry. A couple of active kids, living in the woods, a husband-mechanic-woodsman-who-likes-to-get-his-hands-dirty, in and out pets and my penchant for clean towels all of the time kind of make for at least a load everyday.

So I wash. So I dry. So I fold.

{note: but I hate to put away.}

and, at the beginning, even though I was the one that said it was fine, I was bemoaning the hanging up of wet, dripping sweaters and  and sheets and blankets, as it was taking time from school, life and other things I thought I need to be or {wanted to be or was too distracted by} doing.

And then it happened slowly, or I should say:::

I realized it slowly…

how much I loved hanging up my laundry… how it slowed me down… how it gifted me time and quietude in the middle of our schedules.. silly? Maybe a little:::

Each early morning, after my load or two was washed clean and rinsed free and spun out and made new again,

The kids would start their chores upstairs and

I would carry the soaked and heavy baskets downstairs and start hanging this dripping pile of mine– the mound piled up in front of me… weighing me down…

Standing near the you-can’t-beat-the-cozy-warmth-of-the-woodstove heat, I would begin.

I would hang a dishcloth sopping with worry over here:

And a shirt stained with joylessness over there:

Maybe pants soggy with too-much-on-my-need-to-get-it-all-done-list:

and here, a pillowcase filled with doubt:

and drape some socks: a hole-y pair of weary and tired-out:

Finding their way out of my hands and into His…

… and hanging the heap up: one by one.

And the soiled hamper of my shortcomings and guilts and sins and empty-heart-spots

would start to empty out, too: one by one.

::::: and I pray.


Continue steadfastly in prayer, being watchful in thanksgiving… :::Colossians 4

I began to find myself praying and petitioning and praising and pinning:::

up my burdens:::

and hanging them up and giving them all:::

to Him and hope-expecting them to dry the weight of it all right out- right there in His presence.

I found time with Him in the still and warmth He mercy-gave me in the middle of my mundane.

The chores humdrum:::

that hum a hopeful, happier heart.

And, today, three months by, my wash has changed me.

::::my washing has changed me.

I look expectantly to the moments when my disheveled and sullied self stands before Him, in the early morning or in the late afternoon or the times in between when

He and I…

we spend time together… doing laundry.

And I stand amazed.

The King of Kings meets me wherever I am, even as I hang up my laundry… and He washes me clean.


Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.  ::: Psalm 51








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