I was in my mid-twenties, single, holding a undergrad degree and frankly, not quite sure which direction my life was taking me. My dream jobs were not coming to fruition, and though the “world was my oyster,” I was pondering why this oyster was stuck shut and refusing to open and reveal to me its prized pearl! An oyster that refuses to open, whether by breaking your nails to force it open, throwing it against a rock, or stomping on it, can be quite a frustrating situation. So, like that oyster, I felt tossed aside, forgotten, thrown back into the ocean to settle amidst the silt and darkness of the ocean floor, only to grow algae and be passed over by mudsharks. I jest!
In those years before I met my husband, it was a determined effort to choose to trust God and practice contentment. It took a massive mental assent to make it my project to keep walking forward and ask the Lord to use me in his kingdom, even though my expectations for what my life would look like in that time stamp were not manifesting in reality. With one step forward, day by day, I found the joy and contentment of walking with Him and determining to joyfully and passionately walk with Him in every season the Lord granted me.
I was in between jobs, and I found myself with an opportunity to work at a beloved Christian ranch camp in my neck of the British Columbia woods. Living at my parent’s house at the time, I drove my little blue Toyota Echo down our mountain slopes and out into the countryside until the pavement met the gravel. A few more miles, and I was surrounded by horses at the foot of the mountains. I had taken a seasonal kitchen assistant job. One of the tasks our team had each day was to clean the dining hall after the 200+ campers left for their afternoon activities. As an introvert, this was my opportunity for some much desired quiet time. I volunteered nearly every day to vacuum. That is, until I got carpal tunnel syndrome from vacuuming… too much!
I love to vacuum. I know this is not the case for many people. But to see those little specks of dirt magically disappear and create a clean environment for all to enjoy is deeply satisfying for me. Could there truly be this much joy in the mundane work of vacuuming? For me, there is!
I remember as a kid, discovering the ability to create lines and patterns on the carpet with the vacuum, the realization that one could create dark and light on the carpet depending on which direction the vacuum moved, the determination to get those lines in order and parallel with one another with a slight diagonal to give way for the vacuum to shift and turn. Attention to detail, anyone?
As a newlywed, we didn’t have a good vacuum for our first rental place. My husband loves to search for well engineered products that will last for decades. He told me about a bagless vacuum with cyclonic technology, and though pricey, we decided to purchase one and try it out. It was a game changer. Even though I already took joy in a good vacuum session, now vacuuming became a hobby. Not only did this machine do an impressive job unlike any other machine, I could also see the dirt it collected in the transparent plastic cannister! I needed more carpet in my life.
A simple definition of ministry is to serve people. To clean a space for the benefit of others is to serve them. The act of vacuuming is to prepare a healthy, clean, orderly space for others to feel at ease, to feel cared for, and to function in a healthy space. Its so sweet when I’ve done a deep-clean of my kids’ rooms and they haven’t been expecting it (because they are at an age to steward their spaces well). They knew I took time out of my day and schedule to help them out. The delight on their faces is so satisfying! Their hugs and thank yous are the reward I treasure in my heart. Knowing they feel loved and seen gives me greater joy. These little mundane tasks fill their hearts with tangible love and care. Each of us needs that from others.
As a Christian, I can pray for those who will benefit from a space being cleaned and vacuumed, whether it is my husband, my children, piano students, or guests. When I vacuum at our church building, I can pray for the families who sit in those pews, the students who come for chapel four days a week, the family who has lost their grandparent, the young couple who have just found out they are pregnant, the absent family who is away because of sickness, etc. Vacuuming brings beauty to a space, and welcome to those in need of that healing space. Someone’s hands, made in the image of God’s hands, have served them and prepared a place for them. There is beauty and calm in the mundane and monotonous. We just have to choose it.
