Month two, week two, day three: My housework and Mother Teresa

"The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it." -- Blessed Teresa of Calcutta

My housework is attempting to make me a saint. And I am resisting mightily.

The saints fascinate me. They are my friends and role models. I love to read their works, especially women saints. The thing I love most about them are their humanity, their faults and failures, and watching in awe as they rise above them through Jesus.

One thing that distinguishes the saints from the rest of us is their attitude towards the trials, both great and small, in life. Saints see onerous chores and heroic deeds in the same light: as an opportunity to serve Christ and grow closer to God.

For example: Saint Maximillian Kolbe, imprisoned in a concentration camp during the Second World War, had an aura of peace and serenity as he was starved and abused. He achieved the martyr's crown by offering to take the place of a father who was selected for the gas chamber. These are acts of heroism.

Yet Saint Therese of Lisieux was canonized for her "Little Way" -- her decision to dedicate every task she did to Christ, his Kingdom, and the conversion of sinners. She washed floors for Him. And she is a doctor of the Church (BIG Catholic deal) because of rendering each small domestic chore to Him.

The lesson from this: God cares more about why we do our deeds than the deeds themselves. The tiniest things done with great love make Him supremely happy.

So, back to my house: I hate getting to my housework. I hate trying to figure out what needs to be done and when I will have time to do it while cooking and caring for three small people. I put off fridge-cleaning and floor-scrubbing and laundry folding for as long as possible.

However, once I get to a task, I often find myself enjoying it. And every once in so often I'm given the immense gift of being so immersed in it, so happy to be doing this necessary task, that I can actually think of Higher things, and be happy to do it.

That happened last night, as I scrubbed my kitchen floor with an old-fashioned scrub brush. Down on my knees, the constant anger and annoyance I carry with me now, that feeling of being overwhelmed and exhausted, left me. It was just me and that scrub brush and my Creator. And I could understand why He values these repetitive tasks that bring no glory. After all, listening to our rants and raves and prayers and tears , the billions of us crying out to Him, must be extremely repetitive.

"Help me."
"Please let him live."
"Cure my sister."
"Forgive me."

So repetitive, yet so important to us, and so cherished by Him.