Mrs. Clean and the Heathen Children

Did I ever mention the fact that I'm a really bad housekeeper?

Uh-huh. I thought so.

So today when I got what my husband calls THE URGE to clean, I attacked our bathroom. Suffice it to say you could write your name in the dust on the lid to the commode tank. Yuck.

I scrubbed. I scoured. I bleached everything in sight. I killed cobwebs, sanitized porcelain, eliminated soap scum, shined mirrors, emptied drawers and cleaned under the sink. I reorganized, rearranged, and removed bags of trash. I got rid of old medications, old makeup, old jewelry, and old dirt. I cleaned the ceiling, walls and floor. I bought disinfectant wipes to keep things nice and clean on a daily basis. I bought a plastic bin to store all of my get-ready-in-the-morning-stuff under the sink so I could take it out, use it, then put it away.

And there's still more to do.

Before I go to bed tonight I plan to clean out the cabinet above the commode and reorganize it. I'll wash the windows. I'll hang fresh towels. I'll take the curtain down and put it in the wash.

Then, and only then, will I look at this bathroom with happiness. Then, and only then, will I say to myself.....

"It is good."

And I will rest, knowing my bathroom is free of germs, free of smell, free of dust and dirt. My bathroom will be perfect. And I will sigh the sigh of a contented woman.

Until I look at the rest of my house.

Granted, the bedroom is not bad. Really it isn't. It needs a good dusting and a little picking up. It really has survived the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune quite well, considering we shoveled it out over three weeks ago. I'm actually kind of proud of our housekeeping in that area.

But let's travel down the hall, shall we? We'll pass right by the first two rooms. They belong to the children. The Heathen Children. My offspring. Those Who Know Nothing of Clean Rooms. Songs have been sung and legends created by those who have been fortunate enough to venture into those rooms and come out alive. Others have never been found amongst the piles of dirty gym clothes, nail polish, makeup, dishes, race car paraphenalia, artwork, photos, furniture and bedding that could walk by itself.

Those are some scary rooms.

Then we come to the hallway bathroom. This is not only the guest bathroom, but the main bathroom for the entire house. My children take turns cleaning this bathroom every weekend. The good thing about this is that they do clean it every weekend. The bad thing is what their definition of cleaning actually is.

My son believes that if he places all the dirty laundry in one pile in the bathroom, brushes out the toilet (sans any kind of cleaning solution), sprinkles Comet in the bathtub and rinses it out, he's done his job.

My daughter is almost as bad. When I told her to clean the bathroom today, she actually did remove the dirty laundry. She also scrubbed out the tub with Comet. And she regarded it as a job well done. When I mentioned to her that perhaps she might consider cleaning out the sink and scrubbing out the toilet as well as cleaning the mirror, I was called a "perfectionist" and given "the look" by my sweet little girl.

ME??? A PERFECTIONIST???? At HOUSEKEEPING????

However strange it may seem, I have become to my fourteen-year-old daughter what my mother was to me. How on earth could something like that happen? How could the standards for perfectionism have lowered so drastically in the time between my teenage years and hers?

But as I thought about it, I could see her reasoning. My perfectionism is what got me into this mess in the first place. Rather than just do what I can to clean, I have to do it PERFECTLY. If it can't be done PERFECTLY in the amount of time I have, with the amount of energy I have, I won't do it. If I look at a job that needs to be done and see that I will only be able to finish part of it, I won't start it. If I can't finish a job the way I want to, it won't be begun. As I was told growing up, "If you can't do it right, don't do it at all."

Take our bathroom, for instance. A normal person would have spent a hour in there, tops. I spent the greater part of the DAY making sure everything was done...to PERFECTION. When we have the family over for our yearly Thanksgiving dinner, I go into freak-out mode the week before. My family ends up hating me for what I've become during that time, because I want everything to be PERFECT before the dinner. We clean like mad, and I become crazed with making sure every little thing is spotless.

This is definitely something I need to conquer. The question is....how? How do I let go of these feelings? Why is it so important to me to be "perfect" in everything I do? Why do I feel so inadequate in this area?

I think that I am trying to become perfect by my works. Perfect so that no one can find fault with me. Perfect in not only the eyes of man, but also in the eyes of God.

I know better. I know I'm striving for something that will never happen this side of Heaven. I know nothing I can do here will ever reach the summit of perfection I strive for. And yet I continue.

Father God, help me to see the foolishness of my struggle. Help me to give it up and to be satisfied to do the best I can with the circumstances I'm given. Help me to accept when things are "good enough" for the time being. Help me not to judge my self-worth on what others think. Help me to see myself as Your child, and let that be my only source of perfection.

Because Your name is Perfect. And I am not.


Isaiah 64:6
We are all infected and impure with sin. When we proudly display our righteous deeds, we find they are but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall. And our sins, like the wind, sweep us away.
New Living Translation © 1996 Tyndale Charitable Trust


Hebrews 7:11
If perfection could have been attained through the Levitical priesthood (for on the basis of it the law was given to the people), why was there still need for another priest to come–one in the order of Melchizedek, not in the order of Aaron?
New International Version © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society