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| photo courtesy of tiramisustudio @freedigitalphotos.net |
Not the kind in a bowl, the best selling book series.
(My favorites are the ones my stories are in.)
Of course, I also posted it below for all you wonderful blog friends.
Sunlight streamed through Bible Truth Ministries'
multicolored windows. I relaxed on the blue padded pew, ran my fingertips
across its glossy wood back, and enjoyed the fresh scent wafting through the
air. This friendly church already felt like home.
My husband, Jake, and I sat with other new members in an
orientation meeting led by a congenial deep-voiced elder. As the session
drew to a close he said, "Should you feel a call to serve, we have many
options available."
I squeezed Jake's hand and smiled. We enjoyed helping others.
Surely there'd be a place we could be useful.
The elder read the list of service opportunities in his James
Earl Jones voice:
Grounds Crew. Jake perked up. He already helped many of our
neighbors with their mowing and snow shoveling. I knew he'd found his niche.
Food teams. I thought of my non-existent culinary skills and
pictured black smoke billowing from the church kitchen. I knew to steer clear
of that one.
Choir. Being slightly tone deaf, my voice sounded like a cat
in a blender. No need to inflict that on our new church family.
Youth ministry. I'd taught children's church for years. I
thought, "This is it, right Lord?"
Silence. No Holy Spirit nudge. No divine light bulb shining
overhead.
I slumped back and listened to the rest of the list.
Ushers.
Safety Patrol.
Technical services.
Then the elder paused and proclaimed in a
voice of doom,
"Church cleaning team."
I felt a nudge in my spirit. I scanned the gleaming sanctuary
and mentally calculated the hours it might take to clean the large space. I
decided I wasn't hearing God after all.
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| photo courtesy of tiramisustudio @freedigitalphotos.net |
God prodded again.
I adopted a "Get thee behind me, Cleaning!"
posture. "Lord, surely you don't expect me to clean the church?"
But he did.
With a mental scowl, I signed up for a cleaning slot.
The next Friday evening I joined a team of hug-slinging
church members. Five women, ages ranging from young to grandma, plus one
forty-something man, extended a cheerful welcome.
"Do we meet every week?" I asked, trying to hide my
apprehension.
Our team leader had the grace to look appalled, "Mercy,
no! Each team cleans once a month."
I silently congratulated God. I could handle once a
month...maybe.
The team leader explained the division of tasks: dusting,
vacuuming, window washing, etc. The lone man on our team pointed to a mop and
said, "I always clean the throne room."
Throne room?
The bible talked about God being on his heavenly throne, but
I'd never heard of anyone taking a mop to it. The others paused at my blank
look. "Um, I'm not familiar with that theological reference," I said.
Good-natured laughter erupted. A lady put her arm around my
shoulder. "'Throne' is slang for toilet."
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Photo courtesy of foto76 @ freedigitalphotos.net
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Another woman patted my arm, still giggling. "'Throne.'
Girl, you're a hoot."
I smiled weakly and took the backpack sized portable vacuum
she handed me. I strapped the shell-shaped appliance to my back, and like a
middle-aged mutant cleaning turtle, sucked crud from the pew crevices as instructed.
The rest of the team sprang into action.
With Bellevue, Nebraska's Strategic Air Command close by, Air
Force members and veterans comprised the majority of the church. This group
demonstrated military precision in their search and destroy mission against
Enemy Dirt. Dust bunnies quailed before their feather-duster onslaught.
Most surprising to me, no one complained or grumbled. Between
vacuum bouts I heard snatches of laughter and song.
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| photo courtesy of radnatt @ freedigitalphotos.net |
The ensuing months brought a myriad of new "opportunities,"
like pew polishing and carpet cleaning.
One evening, washing windows beside a cheerful mite of a
woman, I asked, "Do you enjoy cleaning?"
She laughed. "None of us like cleaning. We do it to
serve God, and serve others."
Her words rose to mind soon after, the day our regular
bathroom volunteer went MIA--missing in action. Our team grandma asked,
"Jeanie, would you mind cleaning the throne room?"
Unwilling to show my apprehension before this hard-working
woman, I gulped and squeaked, "No problem."
Shouldering the arsenal of bathroom cleaning weapons, I
headed off to do battle in the throne room.
I pulled on two pairs of rubber gloves and gingerly entered
the first of four bathrooms. The church men might be aiming for Godliness, but they
sure weren't aiming for this throne. I backpedaled and sent up a King James's
type plea. "Oh Lord, surely thou canst deliver thy servant from the evil
before me."
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| Pic courtesy of Raktim Chatterjee @freedigitalphotos.net |
No answer from the upper throne, so I set to work on the one
in front of me, anointing it with copious quantities of Pine-Sol. After
completing the fourth bathroom I sprayed myself with enough Lysol to open an
ozone hole overhead.
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| photo courtesy of tiramisustudio @freedigitalphotos.net |
Although I never grew to love cleaning, I did grow to love my
teammates, and learned their true mission--prayer. After every cleaning session
we gathered together, clasped hands, and approached God's heavenly throne,
seeking his help for people and situations around the world.
Each time we prayed their dedication struck me afresh. Their
love for God overflowed, evidenced by their faithful service to him and others.
Time passed and I volunteered for other church activities,
like holiday productions and the praise dance team. My kitchen stints remained
limited to non-cooking areas for the health and safety of all involved.
Through it all, I stayed on the cleaning team. Ironically, I
became our regular bathroom cleaner, the "Throne Room Queen" wielding
a toilet brush in place of a scepter.
One day someone will settle into the pew I'd occupied years
before. Sunlight will stream through the clean windows. She'll run her
fingertips over the glossy wood pew. Her children will play nearby on the
spotless carpet. She'll think, "I want to join the cleaning team."
My replacement will join the ranks.
In the mean time, God's on his throne, and I still
have one to clean.
The end.
