I gripe about washing dishes. My cozy home does not house a dishwasher, so coming to the sink is a slow and necessary act. As I fill the sink, more than once a day, I think about the “more important” things I could be doing. Should be doing.
And before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m complaining in my heart and allowing my frustration to flow in spoken words that are anything but grateful.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
Did God really save me to wash dishes?
I know God, who set the stars in the sky and flung fish into the sea, has called me and truly all His creation to great things. Great things like discipling new believers, praying without ceasing, writing words that encourage another soul. He is a shrewd manager of our time and doesn’t waste one of our days.
And yet, when I spend mornings and evenings tidying the kitchen, I have a hard time believing this is the life for which he saved me. Surely He didn’t intend for me to waste away at the kitchen sink when he gave me a desire to create? How am I meant to be faithful to both this chore and the community in which I’m planted? How is washing dishes making an eternal impact?
I thought God needed me to do other things. I thought he called me to disciple, write, pray, cook, host, walk, and a plethora of other verbs that sound more fun than washing dishes. I thought He made me to live a life of productivity.
Somewhere within me lies the belief that washing dishes is a waste of time.
My precious time.
And that’s the root of my griping. Believing too small of His plans for my time and succumbing to the idea that I know better how to spend my time than He does.
You were not made for frustration, dear heart.
As soap suds gathered on plates and bowls filled with water, I realized that I could choose a different response. I didn’t have to be grumpy about it. I could come to the sink with a different posture.
It felt so simple – almost silly – to think about my heart in this way.
Could I really have a say in changing my heart’s posture?
I did the only thing I know what to do when I get an idea that feels too big to do alone. I prayed about it. I started praying, redeeming my time spent here. Something other than complaining. Our hearts are not made for frustration. They’re made for joy and trust in our Maker.
What started as prayers asking God to ease the frustration pangs of housework turned into prayers for my home and community.
I started prayed for my home and the guests who enter. For the life that we’re cultivating under this roof and the legacy it will one day leave. For our future family, starting with the baby in my womb. Imperfect prayers prayed here, day after day, as I cleaned the dishes at the sink. Each bubble washed down the sink began to represent another chunk of my heart easing up.
One imperfect prayer after another – if you can even count prayers – until these dirty dishes became a sign of provision and blessing.
The dishes didn’t change.
Eventually I began to enjoy washing dishes because it became time spent for God. Or perhaps, more accurately, it was always time spent for God. I just finally began to believe that.
But y’all know the dishes didn’t stop coming. Actually, the more we invited friends over and preparing for baby to arrive, we actually had more dishes to wash.
My heart learned to see the full sink as an opportunity to pause and say thanks for money to fill our plates and pay the water bill. To ask Him for a family to nurture, in His timing and way. To admit the fears and flailings (not a typo) I carried with me every day.
The sink, with all its soaps and suds, became a sacred place.
The parts of me that used to hate washing dishes began to believe that I could find joy here. Slowly, slowly every day. This mundane chore and the simple glory of prayer threaded into my daily rhythms. Even when I couldn’t see the answers to the prayers, I just stood there talking to Him in my heart and sometimes out loud. Without anything fancy or a perfected script, honest words came up and out.
It occurred to me eventually that the simple act of prayer had changed something in our kitchen. Not the answers He chose to give or withhold but talking to Him openly and honestly. The prayers that started with, “Lord, help me to not hate washing dishes. Help me to watch my tongue. Get rid of this frustration within me.” turned into something bigger.
I was stewarding the home and heart He had gifted me before I even realized that’s what I was doing. In an act of defiance to the lie that washing dishes is a waste of time, I chose to believe that this was a good and noble thing to do. Showing up to do the dirty work, lifting people I know and dream of knowing in prayer, relinquishing frustrations – He was growing me to see the glory in ordinary places.
Prayer after prayer, until I learned this chore is an act of stewardship.
The dishes continued piling up, but the burdens I carried lightened. The only difference was the rhythm of prayer and choosing a different posture when I came to the sink. He redeemed my time spent in the kitchen.
I came to the sink a few weeks ago. I stood in the same spot I have for years. I’ve watched the trees in the yard blossom to green before turning golden and then bare a few times now.
This time, as the leaves turned golden, I washed dishes with a babe wrapped to my body. I held him close and kissed his head; I realized that I prayed for him here a hundred times before I ever saw his face. This little man is the fruition of easy, sometimes distracted, sincere prayers that the Lord received.
And I realized, the answer was yes. Standing at the kitchen sink was exactly where God had placed me all those times before, and even now, because it led me to carrying this baby. In the face of this sleeping child, I saw the eternal impact of my clumsy breath prayers and knew that I had been called to wash dishes all those times before for no purpose less than praying this baby into the world and growing into the gracious and God-reliant mama he needs me to be.
The dishes didn’t change, but my heart did. As the dishes piled up and I showed up to take care of them, this rhythm day in and day out, God took the prayers I offered and turned them into blessings and provision beyond my wildest imagination.
It tickles me to think about the ways I have yet to see the answer to those prayers. The life of this baby in my arms is only just beginning. How will he glorify God in his generation because of the honest things I said while washing dishes?
God deals mercifully with me as I stand dutifully at the kitchen sink, clumsily stewarding the home and heart He gave me. Thank You, Jesus, for my baby and the dirty dishes that helped me pray for him.