Of Rags and Righteousness

The Elixir

George Herbert

Teach me, my God and King,

in all things thee to see,

And what I do in anything,

To do it as for thee:

Not rudely as a beast,

To run into an action;

But still to make thee prepossest,

And give it his perfection.

I hate to clean. Especially bathrooms. Yet, when I was a teenager, such was my first paying job. Although I took great pride in my work, I had to entertain myself somehow to keep my mind off how utterly gross and boring the work was. On any given cleaning day, I could be found tapping Morse Code while scrubbing toilets, staring at Scripture while wiping mirrors, or reciting The Elixir while bathing tubs.

I had forgotten about my love-hate relationship with this poem until this past Saturday when I tackled  the grunge of my own bathroom. I'd decided to give it a deep cleaning—not your typical once-a-week scrub. An hour into the drudgery, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. “You really want to wash the walls and the baseboards and the floor, Skout? Really? And the door and the light fixtures in addition to the toilet and tub and sink? Is it truly necessary? And on such a humid day!” I questioned my verve as Alice re-thinking her decision to make sport with the Queen of Hearts. Tongue sticking out in determination, water dripping down my face from perspiration, I stared at the grout and heard the words of The Elixir whirring in my head.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws,

Makes that and the action fine.

“Oh yes,” (Alice again), “You're doing this for Mom. She'll be thrilled when she gets home from Texas—that makes it all worthwhile.” Mom. The Mary Poppins of housecleaning. Need I say more? I was attempting to stand on the shoulders of a giant and found it rather daunting. Yet, I pressed on because, frankly, I rather liked the view. If only I could be more like she is! If only I could clean like this all the time. To see the grime in obscure places and have the enthusiasm to whisk it away post haste! To scour the tub till it reflects the sparkle of Mr Clean's pearly whites themselves! To never leave a streak on a window or mirror or floor! To dream the impossible dream...

I scrubbed and scoured and scowled (let's face it, it's hard to smile when you're applying that extra bit of elbow grease, whether you like the labor or not!). And as I moved from my stool at the mirror to my knees on the floor, I began reflecting on what truly dirty work this is and how I really do despise it. Running my rag round the sink, my thoughts suddenly turned to the twins. How many times
had I asked them if they'd washed their hands? How many times had I helped them  scrub, quipping Scripture with each squirt of soap?

“Who can ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in His holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart...” (Psalm 24:3-4)

At that particular moment, my own hands felt disgusting. I'm sure the boys have never thought twice about that Scripture their Auntie hums as they go tripping off, hands dripping, to their next activity. Come to think of it, I've never dwelt on it long myself. But it struck a new chord in my mind, cleaning alone on Saturday. I mulled it over again.

“He who has clean hands and a pure heart.”

Such simple words with such magnificent significance! Do I have clean hands? Do I have a pure heart? When was the last time I took a deep look inside and gave that a good scouring? Laboring at the job I despise most, I suddenly saw the grime growing on my own inward dwelling and felt the utter wretchedness of my filth. And then, of course, Isaiah swept by and whispered through the door, “And all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6).

My heart, my righteousness, even my desire to please—dirty, filthy, stained.

What was that part of the poem again? "And what I do in anything to do it as for Thee."

Here I was, so intent on giving a mere bathroom a thorough once-over, yet so neglectful of tending to the cleanliness of my own heart. Here I was, so intent on living up to Mom's high standards, yet so negligent of living up to my Saviour's higher one.

I thought about how David must have felt when he stood exposed before God, the mire of his guilt emanating loathsomeness. He could not wash it off; he could not clean his hands. All he could do was cry out,
“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! See if there is any offensive way in me and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Psalm 139:23-24)

Cleaning the bathroom is definitely drudge work. I don't think I'll ever enjoy it. It's repulsive and offensive. Yet I am repulsive and offensive every single day. I wake in my sin and go to sleep in my sin. And I so often fail to cry out to my God to rid me of my loathsome ways.

But He, being rich in mercy, makes me shine every single day. He strips off my sackcloth and clothes me in white. He takes the rags of my wretchedness and hands me the righteousness of Christ. He searches my heart and cleanses my soul. Oh, what a mighty God I serve!

A man that looks on glass,

On it may stay his eye;

Or if he pleaseth, through it pass

And then the heaven espy.

Sometimes it's hard to get down and dirty in the comfort of self-serving American living. I am so grateful that God gave me a glimpse through the glass of the unclean, this weekend, to the gleam of heaven beyond. Such a small enlightenment it was, looking back, but such a glorious theme it revealed! 

Praise God that He would stoop so low to save a wretch like me!

Standing in Awe

What an interesting week it has been. I have been seeing the footprints of God's grace behind and before me in so many ways, and for some reason, I have been astounded by the trail. I should not be surprised that God is gracious and faithful in all His ways, right? I should not be surprised that He "fulfills the desire of those who fear Him" (Psalm 145:19) in ways that are better than my ways. Yet, praise God that I am surprised! Lately, I find myself standing in utter awe day after day, the words of Paul and the Psalmist pouring from my lips, "Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and how inscrutable His ways!" (Romans 11:33). "Oh, magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together! I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to Him are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed....Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! Oh, fear the Lord, you His saints, for those who fear Him have no lack! The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing" (Psalm 34:3-5, 8-10).

I feel radiant, but it is not because of anything that I have done. I marvel in the fact that God took my pitiful, unworthy self and used this broken vessel for His glory to work in the life of one of His saints throughout this past year. And I have been witnessing the fruit of it! My new friend, Joe, has been saved by His mercy and has been growing in grace in a way that makes me freshly zealous about my own faith. To top it off, Joe has been placed in a blaze of good teaching and is being surrounded by Christians who are eager to encourage him and help him grow. Perhaps my excitement is due to the fact that I've never seen anyone outside of the church come to faith in Christ before, but I praise God that I have seen it now, for it is a wonder! Amid the muck of conflict and disunity within the church that I have been struggling with for the past couple of years, this sprout of new life has been a great hope and encouragement to me.

Not only that, but I am surprised at the ways God is using my new church to bless me and strengthen my faith. I feel so lost there--none of my friends (save one) attend this church and most of the young adults are guys who are...well, young (I can't believe I'm even saying that--gosh, I feel old!). It has been difficult to connect with people, and I miss the fellowship I used to have with the girls at my former church. But God is good and used a rather humorous circumstance tonight to show me, yet again, His faithfulness.

After inviting several friends over for a fire, most of the people who came were those I least expected to show up. My "sister" came, of course (thanks, Ally--I can always count on you!) and one other female friend, but of all the people I invited from church, who should appear but a pack of teenage boys! So, here I was, at nine o'clock at night, with the only two girls who had come--gone, and a bunch of guys to entertain. It was kind of weird.  I must admit, I was a bit relieved when I discovered that they're all talkers. I don't have a problem getting conversation going and leading a discussion with any group--guys or girls, but I wasn't quite sure where to begin with 16-19 year-old boys I don't really know. They releasd me from the task right off the bat by getting into a doctrinal discussion. Now you can really imagine the disbelief! They'd attacked my chips, my chocolate, and my fire in one fell swoop when they arrived, but the immediate consumption of goods was totally worth the conversation that followed.

After the banter on election and imputation, Scripture started flying around the circle that I almost felt like I was in a game of Hot Potato. One after the other was spouting off verses that they'd been meditating on, that they'd found amazing, that they'd just come to a new understanding of. I have never seen a group of young men like that who are so serious about their faith. Granted, I did have my share of discussing comedy routines, learning about video games, and discovering a cooler, more complicated version of Risk (may I never have to play it!). But I sat in that circle feeling very much as though I had a new band of brothers who I respect and admire for their faith.

I have been expecting God to hear my cry for friends at this new church, and I realized tonight that He has been answering that cry. In the past few weeks I have received as much encouragement from this burgeoning group of young men as I have in the past from the girls I've been close to. Where I thought there was drought, God has revealed to me wells, and I stand in awe of His faithfulness. I never would have expected healing to come in the ways God has brought it. But I am seeing His hand at work in the lives of new brothers and sisters in Christ, and I am satisfied. True to the word of my Lord, I lack no good thing, for I am filled to the brim with His goodness. How can I keep from singing the wonder of His name?

"Sometimes a light surprises the Christian when he sings. It is the Lord who rises with healing in His wings. When comforts are declining, He grants the soul, again, a season of clear shining to cheer it after rain."

"I will extol you, my God and King, and bless Your name forever and ever. Every day I will bless You and praise Your name forever and ever. Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised, and His greatness is unsearchable. One generation shall commend Your works to another, and shall declare Your mighty acts. On the glorious splendor of Your majesty, and on Your wondrous works, I will meditate. They shall speak of the might of Your awesome deeds, and I will declare Your greatness. They shall pour forth the fame of Your abundant goodness and shall sing aloud of Your righteousness....My mouth will speak the praise of the Lord, and let all flesh bless His holy name forever and ever" (Psalm 145:1-7, 21).

 



Word Gardening



Well, she's back. The delinquent writer has returned to her roots, pulled the weeds from the plot, and brought seeds for the soil. I'm ready to plant fresh flowers. (Perhaps with all the rain we received today, they'll spring to life quickly!)

Of course you all know that (I being shamefully inadequate to keep any living plant alive) my garden simply sprouts words. And as you also know, these have not been flourishing here for quite some time. The ivy has grown so thick over these pages that I scarce remembered there was a garden here at all. But, like one inquiring Mary Lennox, I have recently followed a raucus raven to the secret door of blogging, where a spot of sun lit on the key I now hold in my hand, ready to open a new season in my Jardin des Paroles. “Will it last?” you ask, “This season of words?” Time will tell, but I do so hope that I am better at keeping language alive than I am at lupine. Perhaps by Fall, there will be enough new growth for you all to put pansies on your lintels and posies in your lapels.

Speaking of Fall, today was so unusual weather-wise that I began wishing it were cool enough to curl up in a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of popcorn. The rain has actually created quite an autumnal atmosphere and, what with thoughts of the Fall Fling occupying my mind, I've been practically in October all day. No, I cannot disclose the theme of the party to any of you yet, neither can I reveal the grand plans I have brewing (again, no—the theme has nothing to do with coffee; you won't find any clever play-on-words here for hints!).

I am in a bit of a quandry, though. The Essence is so arthritic this year that he can't even hold his saxophone. I'm thinking of retiring him. Thoughts? It only seems fair since, in reality, he now has a family, and if I'm going to keep forcing him to make an appearance at the party, he should be allowed to have his family with him, don't you think? And that would mean not only having the Essence of Shayne, but acquiring an Essence of Lindsey and little Essences of Benedict and Laurence (how would I pull that one off anyway—mini M&M dispensers? Hmmm...not a bad idea). Suggestions would be appreciated. I would hate to
disappoint anyone, but it's starting to seem a bit passé.

On a happier note, I received two highly important bits of news today. Baby Laurence took his first step (at only 9 months old—yeah!). Kudos to you, little baby! As he already knows his tante is proud of him, I know he (being the understanding second-born that he is) won't be offended when I say that hearing the following bit of news was a crowning moment in my life as an aunt. Drumroll please...

Benedict has an imaginary friend!

I heard the news third-party, so I'm not 100% on the weird name yet, but apparently, Benedict talks to this guy all the time and claims that his new friend is his manager. Manager of what? I don't know, but I'd like to believe he manages the kid's singing career. I'll be surprised if Master Benedetto doesn't have an album out by the time he's three. Wait...that's coming up rather soon. Since he just hired this manager, I guess I'll give him till Christmas.  At any rate, I can't wait to see how his fabulous imagination develops as he gets older. You never know, maybe he'll become a writer like his tante!

Well, I'm afraid I don't have much else write about tonight. I was hoping to put some thought-provoking content on here so you all would see how serious I plan on being about blogging again (with real posts and not just the photo journals I grew into the habit of putting up a few years ago). But this weather today put me in such a cozy mood that I couldn't think of anything of true substance to post about (minus the news of the nephews—that was definitely blog-worthy!). I suppose it's difficult to post anything serious with a name like “Pipsqueaks” anyway. So, true to form, I'm sure I will provide you all with an ecclectic conglommeration of serious, random, and not-so-serious random writings on Skout's revived blog. Let's hope that's a good thing. After all, the more varied the flowers, the more fragrant the garden.

Inspiration

Texas!!!

Well, I wondered how I could possibly show off my new nephew to all of my friends (seeing as Mom always has the prints of our photos) when I realized that I hadn't posted on here in nearly a year! Wow. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to benefit both me and all of you, I figured I'd finally endow you with an entry (two figs for the price of one! Speaking of which, I found FRESH FIGS at the grocery store today!!! Seeing as they weren't plucked straight off the branch of an historic Williamsburg tree, I didn't quite get the satisfaction out of them that I'd hoped, but I did turn a four-year-old on to one of the weirdest fruits a four-year-old could possibly get excited about--Christian actually loved them...strange child). Anyway, here's my latest photo journal for your viewing pleasure.

For starters, at the beginning of our trip, Benedict did a lot of this...

...during the day, of course. I had the pleasure of bouncing him during the late night cry-just-for-the-fun-of-it shift. On Friday, I actually told Shayne and Lindsey they could wake me up if they needed help in the night. I didn't think they'd take me seriously.

They did.

Honestly, the 4:30 shift should be doled out to the Gramps who get up that early anyway just to work out! Alas, Benedict's Pepe was a cop-out come the wee hours, conveniently reposing in a nearby hotel, or, even more cozily, at the distant home of friends. So, we felt none too guilty about handing the babe over for the lazy afternoons when Pep was around.

I don't think Pop minded, and Benedict seemed to nestle right in, the little stinker.

After my late-night nap (typically from 8-9am), I had the happy indulgence of bonding with the neph. We read French (which he quite relished--he did), sang songs, contemplated the absurdity of proboscises while staring at some odd shapes in the mirror, and smirked at the bliss of balmy air and brilliant blue skies while others were dying slow deaths by frostbite back east (oh, don't get all high-strung about it; I reaped the cruel reward for my gloating as soon as I stepped off the plane in Washington! And yes, 'twas literally as I stepped off the plane, for we rode regional jets and got to climb directly aboard!!! Pop and I had a blast in the little things.)

Anyway, here's the progression of Benedict's experience getting used to his Taunte:

New face...what's she gonna do to me...

I think she wants me to laugh or something, but it just doesn't tickle.

She's weird...

...now that makes me laugh!

Nice, she plays with me...

...think I kinda like her.

Maybe more than just a little.

Okay, he was probably staring at his Meme there, but I can fantasize, can't I?

The young duffer looked mighty cute in the hat I knit for him--I was so glad it was cold enough for him to wear it while I was there!

Since Benedict looked so fine in his Sunday best, we thought we'd get a family shot. Besides, at two months old, a guy can forget that the Yankee relatives really do love him--he needed evidence......and unfortunately, that evidence is just for Benedict right now. Sorry, my PC's too slow to upload that photo at the moment, so y'all will have to wait till another day.

In the meantime, here's evidence that we gave him more than one reminder of his northern roots.

Don't you just love the contrast? Lindsey felted those boots for him. Here's another nifty pair--you can call 'em his dancin' duds.

So, now y'all know what my nephew looks like and I've satisfied you with an entry--and probably not the last of the year.

For those of you who like close-ups, I'll leave off with these two of my favorites:

Until next time...so long and keep your stick on the ice!