Reaching the mop far under the master bed yesterday, I cleaned away a year’s worth of dust and dog hair. Putting the stray shoes in their closet slots, one at a time, I felt a lesson coming on. Slowly, carefully, I dusted the top of our dressers, side tables, and windowsills, feeling grateful for the time to clean with such care. I put some nails in the walls that have been completely bare since we moved in, and I hung the wreath and embroidery art that seem to fit jusg right.
As I stood back and breathed, I observed that our room has never looked better. But it needed one last touch. I needed to polish my grandmother’s silver candelabra that sits on Andrew’s dresser. It was badly tarnished, and has been pretty much ignored since we moved in 2 years ago. I brought it downstairs, removed the candles, and got to work rubbing off the black.
Polishing silver is not a clean job. At least not the way I do it. It gets worse before it gets better. My fingers turn dark and greasy, coated with blackened polish.
Rubbing every tiny detail and nook of the silver takes time and care. As I rub, the lesson hits me in the face. All this care and attention I am suddenly giving my master bedroom. A room that has been all but ignored the past couple years. It’s tucked away upstairs, at the end of the hall, and often the last place I think to clean because of how little time I spend there. And it showed. The dust was bad. The walls were bare.
I suddenly felt that it somehow, paying attention to this silver was symbolic of my new life at home that gives me time to pay attention to the details. I polished that candlestick and prayed for my marriage, and for my husband – that we would care for our love, nourish it, protect it, attend to it like never before.
And finally I wiped away the polish, and buffed it until it shone. And it was radiant. A thing of beauty for sure.
Lord, polish our hearts – buff away the dull places till we shine of love.