44

Clean Sweep

I WENT THROUGH THE CAR WASH THE OTHER DAY.

Of course, that wasn’t my intention.

My intention was to send MY CAR through the car wash. It’s just that things don’t always work out like I’d planned.

I had just picked up my daughters and a couple of their friends from school when I decided my car needed gas and a wash. I filled up the tank of my 4-Runner, paid for the gas and a car wash, and received a receipt with a code printed in red ink.

I drove up to the car wash tunnel, punched in my code on a little keypad, got a green light, and drove forward.

My front tires hit a bump. The light flashed RED. I was supposed to stop right there, right on that bump, and let the brushless magic begin. I sat. I waited, but the sprayers sat silent. I realized I had overshot the bump that triggers the sprayers.

I popped the transmission into reverse, backed up an inch or two until I was exactly on the bump. Still nothing. I backed all the way out of the tunnel, back to the keypad, unrolled my window, and punched in my code again. The green light beckoned me forward, letting me know that all was forgiven and that my car wash could commence.

Darned if I didn’t overshoot the bump again.

I started to back up to the keypad again, but now there was a car waiting behind me. I was trapped.

I opened my car door and ran back to the keypad and punched in the code.

So now I’m standing at the keypad, and my car is sitting in the car wash tunnel, the driver’s door wide open and the front tires planted firmly on that malicious little bump, which is apparently exactly how the car wash imps wanted everything arranged, because at that moment the sprayers kicked into action and began dousing everything—me, my car, my driver’s side upholstery—with a generous layer of pink suds.

I ran through the sudsy maelstrom and jumped into the front seat, slamming the door behind me. My hair was matted to my head with pink suds. I wiped my forehead clear of pink foam dribbling toward my eyes. The four girls in the car were laughing so hard I thought they’d need CPR. The woman sitting in the BMW behind me had a pinched look on her face, as though she were wondering if I might be dangerous as well as stupid.

But at least my bumpers were spic and span. Come to think of it, my car didn’t look half bad either.

There’s something about a clean car. I love it. Know what else I love? A clean house. I love it when the beds are made and the countertops are clean and the clutter is contained (let’s add fresh-baked bread in the oven and homegrown veggies in the sink and maybe even Ricky Martin sitting at my kitchen table. Why not? We’ve obviously crossed the line into La-La Land).

The problem with getting a clean house is that I hate cleaning. Well, not ALL houses, just my house. Other people’s houses are another story. I mean, is it just me, or have you noticed that it’s a lot more fun cleaning someone else’s house rather than your own?

I like puttering around in my friends’ kitchens. After a meal, I don’t mind at all whipping up some soapy water and starting with dishes, gravitating to pans, and wiping down all the countertops and appliances when I’m done.

And clutter? While my own clutter stumps me daily, I’d know just what to do with that pile of sewing supplies sitting in one friend’s living room or the stack of newspapers, mail, and last month’s schoolwork sitting in the kitchen of another.

Sometimes I even look at other messes in my friends’ lives, messes they’ve made or wandered into, and find myself thinking, “Why, that’s not such a mess at all. That’d be easy to clean up. I know EXACTLY how she should go about tidying that unruly marriage, or that child’s difficult attitude, or all those broken dreams and secrets she’s been sweeping under the rug for years.”

Of course, MY messes continue to stump me, just like the clutter in my house. Sometimes, in fact, I get so used to MY messes and clutter that I wonder if I’m seeing them clearly or if my vision is being impaired by something in my eye, something sort of, well, kind of like, you know . . .

A log.

You probably know that Bible verse as well as I do, the one that says “How can you see to clear the speck out of your sister’s eye when you’ve got a log hanging out of your own?”

The truth is, making a clean sweep of things isn’t always as easy as it seems, whether the tidying up needs to occur in my life or yours. Which is why I, for one, am going to stop applying the White Glove Test to the homes and lives of my friends. Instead, I’m going to love them best I can and try in the meantime to stay open to any housecleaning the Holy Spirit wants to do in my own life.

In fact, I wouldn’t complain at all if he started with my hair.

I had no idea those pink suds would be this hard to get out.