here in the laundry room

crying in my laundry room.  that's how i would have been found if anyone had been looking.  thankfully the house was relatively empty and the washer was running loudly.  no one looked.  no one found.  but still this crazy mama leaned on her front loader and cried her eyes out.

was it really all about shirts?  seriously jody, get a grip.  there are so many things bigger than a row of school uniforms to cause a woman to become unglued.  but today it was the assortment of colorful polos hanging from plastic.  today it was the sight of perimeter school shirts lined up ready to be boxed. i had purposefully left them until now.  but today camps had ended, the vacation was over, and the visitors were gone.  and, most of all, today was july 1st.  somehow, even on this sunday morning, i woke knowing that the moving month had arrived and there was little i could do to put off the packing any longer.  i had no argument to present, no alternative plan to offer, no distraction to deliver. it was time to get serious.  in just a few weeks we'd be moving our family from georgia to minnesota.  it was going to happen.  the inevitable had come.  july had arrived and the countdown had begun.

but there were these shirts all lined up as they have been for the past many, many years.  we've had school uniforms hanging in our laundry room for well over a decade now.  with several years of four kids at the same school wearing roughly the same sized uniforms, i had developed a system to just wash them, dry them and hang them all in one place.  the kids were plenty capable of wandering down to the laundry room each morning and making their daily selection.  there was no need to scrutinize the size of the shirt or deliberate over the correct closet...i left that task to the children.  sometimes the oldest wore things a bit too snug and sometimes the littlest guy chose a shirt too big.  but we learn to pick our battles when parenting five under one roof.   too small or too big seem to matter too little most days.  heck, if i was going to be really honest, clean or dirty doesn't always matter all that much. i want you to know it hasn't always been like that though.  there once was a day when i ironed each item and set out the appropriate uniform pieces each night.  there once was a day when i worried if bows coordinated and socks matched, but those days are long gone, in the past few years we have worked our way into some kind of school days survival mode.

and now, in this first week of july, these shirts are finally coming down.   as i began to pull them from their hangers, i found a small hole in the wall behind the shirts.  they have hung there so long, i had forgotten about that hole.  i hadn't seen it in quite some time!  but the moment had come to remove the hangers and fold the sleeves and tuck them all carefully into a box marked "pcs uniforms."  52 shirts total.  seems ridiculous now that i've counted them.  seems excessive now that i see them all piled neatly and labeled clearly in their plastic crate.

when the box was sealed and the tears had stopped, i called my oldest boy to carry it upstairs for me. "please put it in the attic storage," i said to him.  i knew i wouldn't be able to stare too long at that particular bin.   i walked back into the laundry room with its empty rack and felt the room expand dramatically in size.  thankfully, as always,  there were clean clothes coming soon out of the dryer, ready for hanging.  they would fill the space quickly.  and that's what i wanted.  fill that space.  hide that hole.  pretend it didn't exist.  i can't remember a day when those uniforms weren't hanging there, but that day had come and it was july first and this was only the beginning of a long month of emptying.   i knew from this point forward each day would be spent tackling some kind of closet or cupboard or messy corner of our life.

and that's exactly what has happened this week.  i have moved from one thing to the next.  there is no shortage of stuff to do.  somehow i think if i organize everything perfectly, then the transition will be that much smoother.  if we don't have to waste one moment at the new house in minnesota wondering where our favorite this or that is, than i will have spared us all some monumental grief.  because that's kind of what i fear.  i am a little bit afraid that i might come upon a child searching relentlessly, fruitlessly for some specific treasure which just cannot be located.  i am afraid it will be at that moment when the sadness will come and carry us all away, make us crumble, break our family momentum, attack our reslove.  is that weak?  perhaps.  is that pathetic?  maybe.  but this woman who loves to control things is feeling a bit rattled in this first week of july, in this final month of moving. even though i am absolutely certain i cannot control every item and every nuance of this upheaval, i still desperately want to.   i know at some point i will have to start dumping things into boxes and salute the contents with a "see you on the other side" kind of mentality.   i cannot possibly be tidy and on top of it all each step of the way.  just like my system with those school uniforms, i'll need to figure out a more practical approach.

a couple of weeks ago, a man from the moving company came to our house to kind of "assess" our situation.  he was very kind and easy to work with, but as we moved from room to room he kept saying, "oh the moving company is going to looooove you."  i think what he meant was we have a whole lot of stuff in our house.  the more stuff they move, the more money they make.  i assured him countless times that i was planning on getting rid of a lot.  purging. paring down.  i was certain i had time to shrink the stuff, in fact, i was looking forward to it. i was. i was. i was.  but he knew.  he has been doing this job for over 35 years (he told me).  he has met with thousands of busy housewives in his life and this man knew from experience what would become of my grand intentions.  he chuckled to himself as he counted up the pieces and inventoried our possessions.  the ching-ching sound of dollar signs could almost be heard as he scratched out notes on his clipboard.  i was a tad frustrated with him and his attitude and a bit overwhelmed with me and our house full of stuff.  where in the world did all this come from anyway? in 22 years of marriage we have acquired a lot.  we have acquired maybe too much.  i followed the moving-man and his clipboard into the next room and sighed again... more stuff.

these 52 shirts in the laundry room are only the beginning.  i know this. i know this month will be spent weeding through random items and unearthing memories and forgotten belongings.  i'll have to figure out a system.  i'll at least have to figure out how to get through the day without too many tears.  but mostly, i'll have to stop fighting for control.   this is the lesson God is teaching me right now.  He is uncurling my fingers from my things.   i may have successfully packed up the 52 uniform shirts, but i feel myself still clenching hard on the bits and pieces of our atlanta life.  it is the first week in july though, and the time has come.  open the hand, loosen my grip, and let go.

it's funny, but the month of july has been sort of significant for our family in the past few years. two summers ago, we let go of a somewhat orderly life when we headed to china and introduced an unknown child into our home. we had no idea what to expect, but we learned to trust God with our children and the shape of our family.  that was july 2010.  last year, we let go of our carefree existence when we healed from the wicked stab of cancer. once again, we had no idea what to expect, but somehow we let go and we learned to trust God with our health. that was july 2011.  this year we are letting go of people and a place.  and though it will be painful, somehow we will learn to trust God's plan and provision in this as well.  i can assure you,  we still have no idea what to expect.  but this is july 2012.  and it is here.

and just like in 2010 when we boarded that plane for china...and just like in 2011 when we worried about the cancer and the recovery...God was there in those julys.  God is here in this july.  when we are scared and uncertain and fighting for control, He is here. 

He is here uncurling this clingy woman's fingers from her things. 
He is here whispering His truth gently in her ear. 
He is here in the heat of another uncertain july.  
He is here in the midst of this move. 
He is here in my laundry room.  
He will be there in minnesota.  

He is the God of here.  He is the God of there.  He is God.  He is.


"where can I go from your Spirit?
    where can I flee from your presence?
if i go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if i make my bed in the depths, you are there.
if i rise on the wings of the dawn,
 even there your hand will guide me,
if i settle on the far side of the sea,
  your right hand will hold me fast."  ~ psalm 139:7-10

abide

i stood in my son's room folding grey t-shirts.   laundry.   sweet smelling warmth.  fold.  crease.  smooth.  stack.  clean heat held in tired hands.   i am not a woman who especially loves laundry.  perhaps it is the overflow...or maybe it is the constant flow.  i am sure it is in the never done.  the never ending.  and in the always coming.  i turn my back for a quick moment...just long enough to plop a toddler in a tub or throw a roast in the oven and the pile grows large.  staggering.  who are all these people wearing all this clothing?  it seems we have seventy not seven living under our roof.  my machines are big and highly efficient...even digital.  but they are always, always running.  the only time they seem to pause with quiet  is when there are multiple showers going.  other than that...they could run without ceasing and we'd still have something dirty stashed somewhere.  and, i have to confess,  i am not gifted in this area.  really. truly.  i don't do laundry, i attack laundry.  i have been know to throw great, big heaps of foul smelling clothing into the mouth of this steel machine with no regard for color or fabric.  appalling, i am sure.  i also have been seen taking those same prodigious loads out of the cavernous heat and leaving them in wicker baskets for days....or just piling it all on my bed until night comes and then flinging the great mass recklessly to the floor at the tired midnight hour.  shocking.  i am sorry.  but this happens in my home.  i have no tender touch when it comes to this monumental-always-mulitplying-task.  i launder our clothes in desperate fashion:  scoop.  shove.  bang.  dump.  and then, of course, sometimes, on occasion, even fling.


i am not without laundry role models.  my mother is one of them.  she is a woman without an ipod or a laptop, but whose backyard has always boasted a clothes line.  i have watched this woman attach pillowcases with wooden pins in the dead of  an ohio winter.  i am sure at the top of her favorite things list are bed sheets dried in sunshine.  i have even wondered if there is no greater joy for my mother.  i feel accomplished when, on occasion, i throw in a downy fabric sheet.  it doesn't come close to the sunny smell of my mother's bedding however.  i have found this, at times, inefficient and frustrating.    there were evenings when i'd return from a long day of school and basketball practice only to find my sheets flapping out in the moonlight.  as a 16 year old i wasn't concerned much with the sun-basked fragrance, i only wanted a bed to climb into.   my mother was right to care about this though.  yes, there, i said it.   i want to be that way soon.  i want to hang sheets in the georgia sun and take pleasure from the sharp creases stacked inside  brown wicker.   this practice speaks of time.  it speaks of dedication to the ordinary. to the simple.  it is taking time to do something right.  to do it well, and perhaps, to do it with pleasure.

so there i was standing quietly in my son's basement bedroom over a basket of what he wears:  school uniforms, athletic shorts and an impressive pile of grey t-shirts.   all of his hangers adult sized now.  his t-shirts no longer tiny.  i have been folding this boys' clothing for almost 14 years.   long gone the baby blue.  long gone the trains and trucks.   oh my...as a mother i held these boy-teen items and realized how thankful i was to be standing right here.  right now...simply holding.  and as i held something changed.  i began to carefully crease each t-shirt.  fold each short.  match corners and ends.  smooth. tuck. my piles were a work of art.  there would be no flinging today.  i was privileged to stand in my boy's room and hold dryer warm cotton.  i was privileged. 


this week i have found myself in the middle of these kinds of moments.  they have happened in the laundry room and at the dinner table.  they have occurred at bath time and bed time.  when my health became questionable, the eyes of my  heart became clearer.  all these things...all these common, everyday, ordinary things...all these tasks and chores and have-to-dos became so quickly precious.  they became gifts -  metamorphosing from tasks to treasures.  i know there may be a day when i will have to lean on others to wash and wipe and fold.  there may be a day when my hands cannot do what needs doing.  even if it be,  just for a while.  i'll be honest, it worries me.  i have laid awake at night wondering how a family with five children will survive a period of time without a fully functioning mother.   i don't mean to get ahead of the game, but if you had five children you'd have to wonder too.  trust me on this.  as i was adding the final shirt to the pile, i noticed a word in red across the grey shoulder of my son's shirt.  abide.


abide.  it was the t-shirt on top of the pile.   a t-shirt tyler had gotten at a youth retreat last year.  abide.  i read the word, but thought of the phrase, "abide in me."  i could almost hear my name attached.  "abide in me, jody."  abide in me for the laundry and the lunches.  abide in me for the washing of windows and hands and countertops.  abide in me for the scrubbing of faces and feet and floors.  abide.  abide in me jody.  abide.  dwell.  stay.  connect.  "i am the vine you are the branches;  he who abides in me and i in him, he bears much fruit.  apart from me you can do nothing." (john 15:5)  nothing.  it sunk in.  nothing.   everything i have already done...been doing...it is from Him.  it is All From Him.    this is not about the cancer.  this is about the living.  the daily breath He has been providing all along.  i have been fooling myself in believing  my hands capable and controlling.  Every Thing has always been from Him and Every Thing will always be from Him.  we think ourselves too able.  that is it.  at least that is it for me.   when life is good and health is full i whirl around in a cloud of my own capability...but it is foolishness.   each and every breath is decided by the Creator and Sustainer of all.  He gives and He takes away...and Blessed be His name.  this may not strike a peaceful chord for you right now.  but it does for me.  i have spent some considerable time this week worried about the day when i will have to be dependent...when my children will have to be dependent...i just haven't been able to remove that from my weakness.  i have worried.  but then i folded the final grey t-shirt and i read the word in red, abide.  in the taking time with my laundry, i found a word from my Jesus, a reminder in this most ordinary task.  i found a much needed directive and a crucial instruction.  abide.


this words reminds me of  an old hymn -  like circa 1847 old.  written by a man named henry francis lyte.  he wrote this while he lay dying of tuberculosis.  now, i hesitate to even  put that information in this post.  i, want to be clear here....in no way do i think myself dying.  i am living with breast cancer.  and i am fighting it.   i may take advantage of the situation and lay around blogging....but i am certainly not going to be writing ancient hymns on death beds.  nonetheless, these 19th century lyrics connect with me even in my 2011,  and i wanted to share:

Abide With Me 

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.

When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;

Change and decay in all around I see;

O Thou who changest not, abide with me.

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;

But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,

Familiar, condescending, patient, free.

Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,

But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,

Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—

Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;

And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,

Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,

On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.

I need Thy presence every passing hour.

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?

Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.

Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.

Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.

Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

and that's it.  abiding with Christ in health and in the not so good health.  abiding in Christ in the ordinary and in the extraordinary.  how in need i was of that reminder.  how thankful i am for that remembering.   it is not easy, but can i believe it might be good to consider how incapable my hands are.  i'll be honest,  it makes me uncomfortable.  but i want to abide.  i know in all of this i will need to abide.  whether or not i ever hang sheets in the sunshine is yet to be seen,  but in the meantime, i will abide.  abide.