Sometimes cleaning looks like worship

We never owned a pet in my childhood home.  My sister was highly allergic to dogs and I was highly allergic to cats.  We knew we were missing out on something, but after seeing each other in the hospital struggling to breathe we were content in having each other.

My kids wanted the pet experience too, but with my sister living so close I didn’t want to make my house a place that would make her sick.  I comforted them with the thought that they could get one when they had their own home, which of course felt like an eternity for them.

Things changed when our family moved as missionaries to Nicaragua several years ago.  We all but promised our kids that we would get a dog for fun and for protection, and I was definitely on board for the extra set of eyes around our home.  In the midst of moving and learning and adjusting we never secured a dog before we were moving and learning and adjusting back in the United States a year later.  

The dream of a dog was forgotten by me as we settled into our new life, new home, new jobs, new church.  

Except my kids didn’t forget the almost promise. And kids are really good at reminding.  Over and over and over again.

A couple of years later finds me sitting in the backseat of the car holding a nervous little pup.  My husband, Tim, with a satisfied smile is passing glances at us in the rear view mirror as we make our way home to surprise our kids with the cutest little mutt.  It was his suggested name of Nica that got my hesitant yes to finally owning a pet.  A nod to the originator of this adventure.

It was all joy and tears of excitement when we put her into their arms.  As parents, it felt deeply relieving to fulfill what had been almost promised to our children.  

Until it didn’t.

Within a few weeks, I was over it.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and now that I was neck deep I wanted nothing more than to relieve myself of the burden.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that when all of my efforts to convince my family to re-home the dog failed I wanted to move out.  MY home, My haven of rest, MY place of solace and solitude had become a place that collected and smelled of animal waste.  The space that I had carefully cleaned and arranged and organized became a battleground.  Nothing was safe.  Not the furniture, not the food on the counter, not the precious belongings of my children that they could not remember to put in a safe place.

I felt like my home was being defiled.

There was so much conflict between me and the rest of the family, that it felt like an overwhelming, unsolvable problem.  I loved my family but I did not love the dog.  And because they loved the dog I felt like they chose her over me.  I COULD NOT understand why an animal was worth what she was costing us.

I felt like there was some spiritual truth behind all of this, but I couldn’t see it.  For years I struggled every time I cleaned up a new mess from a pet I didn’t want.  Every time my sister had to leave my house because she couldn’t breathe, I regretted the day I allowed a dog into my home.

I prayed.  I prayed a lot.  I prayed the dog would run away.  I prayed my family would want to get rid of her.  I prayed I would develop an allergy. And when none of that was answered, I prayed God would change me.

And that was the prayer He chose to honor.

It has been my experience that God often doesn’t change situations because he wants to change us.  There is work that he has in mind for us that we are often not interested in.  There are things inside of us that he wants to get rid of because they are hindering us from knowing him fully.  And he will use a dog, if necessary, to do sanctifying work that brings him glory.

My love for Nica has not grown.  But my perspective on leaning into a life that does not serve ME has.  I care for Nica, I clean up her messes and I feed her when everyone else has forgotten, I brush the never ending hair and I sweep her crate, wash her blankets.  I now do all of this without complaining, usually.  I take no credit for this change.  It has been a lengthy supernatural process of listening to the Lord and receiving His grace to endure what I do not want to endure.

I remember one day I was doing the daily vacuuming of hair that collects in piles near the baseboards.  I was hating the fact that it took so much of my time.  Day after day I cleaned up after a dog that I don’t want; a job that no one notices or thanks you for.  I was complaining to the Lord, and just giving him all of my frustration and telling him how the work I was doing felt meaningless.

And in his gentle way he reminded me that all work done for the love and benefit and service of others was done for him.  Even if they never realize how you sacrificed to love them.  God knows.  God sees.  Did he not give the life of his own beloved son to do just that?  What felt like a terrible and insignificant assignment, was actually an invitation to know Jesus and to become like him.  

I swept the floor in tears that day, a mix of feeling the pain of dying to self and the knowledge of the joy that it’s worth it.  And also because I realized that sometimes worship, loving Jesus, looks like cleaning.