Laundry - Dreaded and Divine

I can't catch you up, so I'll share one journal entry:
Leah's screams from the other room wash over me as I gather the dirty clothes, holding the nugget who doesn't want to be put down. I told her to clean her room, but should someone unexpectedly drop in for a visit, they'd be more likely to think that I'm branding her like cattle. For real! I want to scream, too. I don't like these mundane chores anymore than you do! They're never really done, and I do feel her pain. I'm on a constant see saw, working hard to make the house clean and orderly, then wanting to give up and surf the internet instead because it seems like a losing battle. In between I play, and feed, and correct, and teach, and feed some more. I enjoy in snapshot fashion the moments, but often dread the lack of accomplishment I feel overall. Today, I lift up a prayer to Him, thanking Him for the ones who dirtied the clothes, the ones I get to call mine. Onesies are easy to wash when you picture the chubby thighs recently in them. Clothes piled on his side of the bed are a treasure, a reminder that I get to lay beside him each night, every night. But these thoughts fall through my fingers like water because she! still! keeps! wailing! Now Laney has joined in the chorus; I had to put her down to put in the soap. Finding a happy place in my mind is becoming more difficult and I think I must address the dimpled, curly-headed one. With all of the racket, there's no telling what she's doing in there! I peek into her room, and see that the weeping girl is not crouched on the floor, faced covered, or throwing items in a rage. She's cleaning her room, making her bed. I quickly leave before she can see me and laugh to myself. How often do I operate the way she is right now? Ok, maybe not to that extreme, but close, if you could put an ear to my heart and listen to the discontent. I confess this sin again, much like I did yesterday and last week. I'm grieved as I consider my sin against my God...it's so, so ugly. It's so hard not to feel like a failure as I battle the same things daily. As I head back to the chore of chores, laundry, it's as if God taps quietly on my heart. The forgiveness is there, new and fresh. I'm washed again, and God doesn't mind that this chore of His is never done. He doesn't tire of the washing. His feet don't drag when I call His name. He doesn't dread me or need a break from me! Dare I think that He even delights in me? Yes, I think! The cross, the costly grace! He says to me "it is finished" and I know that while it is finished, it is not, too. The laundry that is me will only be done when I arrive in glory. And yet His smile for me doesn't fade like that of a waried parent, tired of teaching the same lesson. He takes my dirt on Himself again and again, and kneads this stubborn heart of mine. Yes, this truth, this is richer. Being thankful for my family, that is good - appreciating tiny moments like treasures. But being thankful for Him, that is far better. He is my portion! And He calls me His own! Lost in these thoughts, I've emptied every hamper and tears now wash my face too. "And can it be that I should gain an interest in the Savior's blood? Died he for me who caused his pain? For me, who him to death pursued? Amazing love! How can it be? That thou, my God, should die for me!" I pause in my thoughts and realize that Leah is quiet now. When did she stop? I lay Laney down in her room and she speed-crawls to the tiny piano to bang out a tune. "You did a good job, Leah," I say and she smiles. "Thanks, Mom." She gets out an old purse of mine that she found while cleaning her room, one she rescued from the Goodwill pile. "Here's something I need to give you," she says as she takes out the dental floss. I peek in the purse of treasures, whozits and whatzits galore, and we laugh at the contents. I'll miss this stage one day, I think, when her imagination is lessened by the inevitable growing up. And yet I know that even when that dreaded day comes, God will divinely meet me there, just as He did here.