A Laundry Quandary – Servanthood Gone Awry

This past Saturday was the first spent in town in over a month. As little household chores are completed during the work week, our apartment followed suit in the second law of thermodynamics, gradually increasing in entropy with each passing week of neglect. As such, I was looking forward to doing some deep cleaning with a full bottle of Windex (my family’s agent of choice) and a dozen rolls of paper towels at my disposal. I had my ipod all charged up and ready to go, my hair (in great need of washing) pulled back and my cleaning clothes on, tie-dyed t-shirt and all. I was even sporting tennis shoes. I meant serious business. I had lofty goals.

For the most part, I really don’t mind cleaning. I don’t particularly enjoy the frequency it requires for an orderly home, but I love the finished product. As such, though I want to be a good, fruitful wife in maintaining our home, quite honestly, a large measure of my motivation is somewhat selfish, not entirely servanthood at its heart. But there is an important clarification that must be made. “Cleaning” refers to toilets, showers, floors, vacuuming, dusting, dishes, picking up, etc., whereas, in my world, laundry has its own category. It didn’t used to be this way – I had no prior feelings of animosity toward this specific chore. Since being married, however, I suspect my feelings may be morphing, owing simply to the sheer volume and speed in which it accumulates. The main culprit – my husband. Though not entirely responsible for the masses of unwashed clothes, I am still amazed that his clothing contributions outweigh mine 2:1 over the same amount of time.

We have now our first premise – we have a lot of clothes to wash. One might suggest simply doing laundry more frequently to lighten the established clothing burden. I agree. I would love to do that. However, there are underlying factors that complicate this desire. Living in a residence hall, I share the building with 280 other students. Together, we share 8 washers and dryers, 2 on each even-numbered floor. This was not much of an issue when I was single – slightly inconvenient, but definitely doable. Being married and doubling the amount of dirty clothes, however, complicates things. It’s often hard to find a time when one or both units are available for use. I have discovered windows of time which generally work, but if not, it usually translates into holding off for another week. Thus, doing weekly loads is sometimes not feasible and bi-weekly loads (my preference) impossible. This doesn’t even factor in the weekends which we are gone, occurring fairly often and also prolonging laundry.

We’ve now established our heavy laundry load and the inconsistency in weekly washings. Less significant is the elevator issue. It’s so insignificant, in fact, that I’ve only experienced this inconvenience 3 times in my (almost) 2 years of residence. However, last Saturday, it was a pertinent issue, contributing to my frustration.

I digress, though I think the above is necessary to fully grasp the context of the laundry quandary. As previously mentioned, I had not been in town for about 5 straight weekends. I usually do the laundry, and usually do it on weekend mornings. However, I had slept in and got a later-than-planned start, though it was glorious to sleep! Jeremy was out of town at an overnight retreat, and I wanted him to come home to a clean apartment with all his clothes freshly laundered and folded (though he’s pretty particular in how he likes his clothes folded, and I have yet to perfect his technique). I kid you not, our apartment was a disaster. At the risk of embarrassment, I will admit there wasn’t much floor to be seen in our bedroom – most of it covered by clothes. Jeremy has had an incredibly busy month, including some traveling, and had piles of clothes strewn about the room, most dirty, though he had still not put away the clean clothes I had washed 3 weeks ago. I wondered exactly what he had been wearing, as it looked to me like every article of clothing he owned was on the floor. As a result, I thought I would try to serve him in washing and folding them all – a large undertaking from a girl with growing animosity towards laundry. Let it be noted I had started with a well-intended heart of service, acknowledging the risk of frustration present in every laundry attempt and wanting to proceed forth anyway.

It took me a fair amount of time to even gather and sort them all. Once I had, however, I soon realized I was not going to be able to do this in a matter of a few hours. I had two overflowing hampers. I left one in the apartment, and proceeded to struggle forward out the door and in the direction of the elevator, only to find it broken. The other alternative: stairs. I arrived at the laundry room on 2^nd at 1pm to both free washers! It was so exciting! After stuffing them to the brim, I returned in 30 minutes to transfer them to the dryers, but both were in use. I debated going up to 4^th, but upon picking up the hamper with now waterlogged clothes, reconsidered. It was really heavy. To satisfy my curiosity, I ran up there sans hamper and found the same situation. I was not going to carry the clothes up to 6^th or 8^th, even if dryers were free. I contemplated taking the odd floor elevator to 5^th or 7^th and walking up a flight of stairs, but at this point, lacked the drive to do it. My desire to serve was fading fast (I had already compromised in my decision to save the other hamper for another day). Jeremy suggested later that I could have taken the odd elevator to 7^th or 9^th and walked down the stairs, adding that most of the 8^th and 9^th floor residents were with him on the retreat, leaving a high probability of available dryers. This clear oversight and lack of common sense on my part did not reduce my frustration by any means.

The dryers on both floors (2^nd and 4^th) pretty much stayed in use all day. Every time I would come and check availability, I found the person previously washing their clothes was now drying them before I had a chance to throw mine in. With each unsuccessful attempt, I found myself growing more agitated and irritated – but toward Jeremy, of all people. And he wasn’t even around. It’s not the first time this has happened, but I still find its irony striking. I start with a desire to serve, and when things don’t go smoothly as planned, grow angry and frustrated at the very person I want to serve. Maybe that’s not the definition of irony in its truest form, but regardless –well-intended servanthood gone so easily awry. I don’t have much longevity, and am still a work in progress by the grace of God. Sanctification through something as ordinary and mundane as laundry! I thank both the Lord and Jeremy for their patience with me.

A Man Named Norman

His hands were gnarled and rough, testimony to the long and hard days of toil on the farm. I gripped one, and gently shaking it, introduced myself. At 90 years of age, Norman* said he had lived a good life. Lying in the hospital in a bleak and helpless state, his dry humor alleviated the heavy reality of his situation, if only for brief seconds.

Only 8 days ago, Norman was seen at his local hospital for a check-up, and all seemed fine. After developing weakness and shortness of breath, he was taken to the ED and regular labs were completed (CBC, basic chemistry panel). With an elevated serum creatinine of 2.4mg/dl (0.8 – 1.3), Norman was in acute renal failure and had a serum uric acid level of 14.2mg/dl (3 – 7.5). His WBC was almost four times the upper limit of normal, with the presence of immature blasts. These findings were indicative of a hematological malignancy and tumor lysis syndrome.

To confirm the cancer diagnosis and reveal its histology, a bone marrow biopsy was necessary. I was given the opportunity to watch. Fighting back tears, I watched as the nurse helped move Norman onto his stomach and pulled down his pants. To see such a gruff man, so strong, robust and healthy for most of his life, in such a state, reliant on so many to complete simple tasks, was both heartbreaking and humbling. It had been a long time since I had been significantly reminded of life’s brevity, and with that, the urgent desire to not waste what precious time God has given me. At the risk of sounding morbid, death is right around the corner for all of us, with only differing distances between us and the said metaphorical corner.

I wondered then, and still do, if Norman knew Jesus, if he had heard and understood the gospel. I wondered if Norman feared death, or if he had the peace, hope and comfort from knowing Jesus intimately – from trusting and experiencing the grace through which his sins were forgiven by the blood of the spotless Lamb, willingly shed on the cross. I wanted badly to talk with him, but didn’t know what I would say. I wanted to offer hope, but the only real hope I have is Jesus. I never had the chance to speak with him one-on-one. Even if I had, though, I fear I honestly would have been too scared to broach the subject. I really want to grow in my ability to communicate to others the grace I experience from Jesus, the price which was paid for my sin and the freedom and life Jesus gives. I pray the Lord will continue to work in my heart in this area.

Norman continued to crack jokes whenever possible throughout the procedure, but I couldn’t laugh, for fear that any sound out of my mouth would result in a half-laugh/half-sob. Afterwards, the doctor explained they would have a better idea of what they were dealing with once they received the results from the examination. I knew it wasn’t good, and Norman did too. “If it’s cancer,” he said gruffly, “Good-bye.” He went on to express his confusion in how this all came about so quickly, wondering why they didn’t see anything abnormal at his most recent check-up, only days ago. Though he tried to sound tough and unphased, his eyes gave him away. Widowed, I wondered if he had any children or other family members to be with him during this time. I just wanted to sit with him for a while, to just be there. I remember walking out into the hall, wondering what hope there was on this floor, full of oncology patients, most terminally ill. It was going to be a long, sobering 5 weeks.

When I returned to work on Monday, I was looking forward to seeing Norman again, only to find he had been discharged. I was confused as to the quick turnaround – he had just been admitted! I checked his chart, finding the biopsy results documented. The flow cytometry revealed mantle cell lymphoma, a rare but aggressive type of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, associated with the worst 5-year survival rate of all NHLs. His prognosis was very poor. Norman did not want to be treated and was transferred to hospice, explaining his short inpatient stay. Even now, 3 weeks later, my heart still aches when I think about his story.

This rotation has not been my favorite, to say the very least. I hated it the first 2 weeks, and on several days sporadically during weeks 3 and 4. I can’t even give you a reason as to why – none that would make you agree and exclaim, “Wow, that sounds horrible!” It’s just not a good fit for me, partially because I’m by myself most of the day with little patient (or any other) interaction. I remember one day in particular I came home really discouraged. Upon confiding in Jeremy my thoughts and feelings, he reminded me that God is sovereign over this, that I was placed here for a specific reason. What that is I’m still not sure, but maybe it’s partly for the realization of the brevity of our time here and the urgency that’s needed in proclaiming the gospel and sharing with others the love of Christ. I need to see the urgent need and feel its weight. I need to identify with it, to be pressed by it. I don’t know, I am not sure why I am here for this rotation at this time of the year, and I don’t know when or if I will ever know. But I believe what Jeremy said is true – God loves me and knows what is best for me. He ordained these 5 weeks for me long before I came into existence. I can rest assured knowing he has his purpose in it. Our God is so good. Praise his name!

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

*Name changed to protect confidentiality

A Bouquet of Newly Sharpened Pencils

As you can see, I am quite the avid blogger. Following my first and only post, I evidently took an almost 2-year blogging sabbatical. Recently, my husband has been encouraging me to start again. I’m going to give it a whirl, but am slightly dubious my efforts will persist or be somewhat consistent. I really enjoy writing, but find it difficult to make the time to do it. We’ll see how it goes!

I love this time of year - the coming of fall (my favorite season) and, for the past 17 years, the anticipation and fresh beginning of a new school year. I love buying school supplies, color coordinating my folders and notebooks and using new highlighters. It often reminds me of a quote in one of my favorite movies, You’ve Got Mail (yes, I’m lame). Joe Fox (Tom Hanks) is instant messaging via AOL (doesn’t that seem ancient!?) Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan), their identities unbeknownst to each other. Joe Fox writes one brisk September morning, “Don’t you just love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms.” I love that – a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils. Imagine how good they would smell!

But this year is different. There is no anticipation or excitement, no new school supplies. After 5 years of college class, it seems so odd to continue working full-time as everyone else in Seim starts class. I have no syllabi with dates of quizzes and tests to put in my planner, no books to purchase and no lectures to attend. My classmates, many of whom I have seen every school day for 5 years, are scattered across the country, not to be reunited until May 13, 2011– graduation day.

Instead, my next school year consists of eight 5-week rotations, each with a different practice setting. Just for the record, I am not a person who loves change. I appreciate familiarity, routine, schedules, stability and predictability. I also hate the first day, actually the first week, of starting a new job. This year, I will experience 8 first weeks. As I’ve already completed 2 of these, I can say my feelings have not changed. However, I do appreciate and am grateful for the Lord’s hand over this world and my life, orchestrating in complete sovereignty what is best for me and sanctifying me through uncomfortable and difficult situations. I cannot put my hope or trust in myself or my worthless ability as a pharmacist to make it through this year and all these first weeks. I am constantly reminded of my insufficiency and need for Jesus, growing in relying on him, trusting in his promises and practically applying the gospel to my everyday life. I take great comfort and hope in who he is, and rejoice in what he is doing in my life. It will be a challenging year, but one which I hope will draw me closer to Jesus, to Jeremy (as we will be apart fairly often), produce character growth and provide opportunities to share Jesus with the people with which I will interact. Educationally, I hope my knowledge and experience in pharmacy will also grow, helping to prepare me for boards and a job as a future pharmacist. I have a hunch many surprises await these next 6 rotations!

Tranquility of Heart: Trusting in God's Sovereignty and Grace

O Lord our governor, we beseech Thee, of Thy mercy,

That we may have the heavenly vision,

And behold things as they seem unto Thee,

That the turmoil of this world may be seen by us

To by bringing forth the sweet peace of the eternal years,

And that in all the troubles and sorrows or our own hearts

We may behold good, and so, with quiet mind

And inward peace, careless of outward storm,

We may do the duty of life which brings to us

A quiet heart, ever trusting in Thee.

We give Thee thanks for all Thy mercy.

We beseech Thy forgiveness of all our sins.

We pray Thy guidance in all things,

Thy presence in the hour of death,

Thy glory in the life to come.

Of Thy mercy hear us,

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Amen.

-George Dawson