On Housecleaning and Spiritual Attack

I am most under spiritual attack when I clean house. This sounds like the most ludicrously self-serving statement ever invented, but it's true.

It's when I'm down on one knee trying, say, to get the crevice cleaner into the inaccessible corners under the bed where there's enough dog hair to stuff a sofa. Or on a ladder slinging a wet rag over the fan blades to get the greasy city dust off the top.

Those are the moments I can almost feel little thoughts being fed into my mind.

If you're Christian, you know what I'm talking about. If you're not, picture a cartoon creature with horns and pitchfork standing on one shoulder, dancing and cackling. Inevitably, sometimes slowly, sometimes fast, I get led into a foul mood.

As the cleaning gets dustier and hotter, I cough and sweat. I long for the Merry Maids. I think, a maid service would cost $200 minimum, and if only we were making lots of money--but we're not (grumble). Maybe if we had them come just for spring and fall cleaning?

How long since I washed the shelves in the kitchen cabinets? And the inside of the fridge? Maybe we could hire a cleaning lady. Somebody out there needs money to pay the bills, and hiring that person would be a public service. God would like that.

Then I think, but my husband would have to pick up all his books and papers so the cleaning person could get at the dust.¹

I think, he never puts away his shoes, and I keep tripping over them and he complains if I shove them under the sofa because he has to bend over to retrieve them.

And then, Why did God put him in my life? Never mind love; never mind faith and character and back scratches and snuggles; this is the man who drapes his socks on a chair every night to air them out. Incorrigible! Impossible! Grr. Grr. Grr.

Now I get a little rougher with the rags. The fan shakes. I blame God for whatever has annoyed me recently. And if only He'd done this or that thing that I asked Him to do back in 1994 or 2003 then I could have...

So now I'm pissed off at God. That's my biggest spiritual pothole--wanting God to follow my orders. I say "Sorry about that God, but..." and keep right on complaining.

On it goes till I'm too peeved to crawl under another piece of furniture.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why our apartment has dust bunnies everywhere.

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Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. --1 Peter 5:8

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¹Never mind my piles of stuff; it's only the hubby's that are in the way.