As a little girl my assignment was always to clean the bathroom on Saturdays. I don’t know when I began to like it but cleaning the bathroom became an event I looked forward to. No, the thought of spending at least an hour consumed by Clorox fumes was not what appealed to me. It was the chance to be alone with my thoughts and with music.
If you have kids of your own then you know how treasured a few moments alone in the bathroom can be. There have been times when not even those moments were alotted to me. Am I the only woman who has ever breastfed a baby while on the loo? Baby is screaming and you have just got to go. How about the moment you make it on the toilet, your son is desperate to use it too and his needs trump yours every time?
This morning I had to take a bathroom break. It was in need of a good cleaning and I needed some time alone with my thoughts and God. As I prepared, there was God ready to talk. What took you so long? Why did you keep yourself so busy this morning to speak to me? But I thought I was talking to you. I stayed busy doing the things you asked me to or what I felt I should and yet I could feel You asking me for alone time.
I’m sorry, was all I could say. I am frustrated and feel quite lost. My hope is waning and I don’t know how much more I can take. In fact, I don’t want to know but you seem determined to push me to the limits of myself.
This is one of those days when I want another option, I tell Him. If I knew of something else to do to fix this place I am in, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I am too far gone. The Red Sea has long since closed behind me. The wilderness is no more and here I am walking around Jericho. Lord may today be the day the walls come down.
I want to do something besides sit here and write but write I must. That is how my joy gets full, He says. Write. Several times Paul wrote to the churches and opened with that same phrase. I write to you that your joy might be full. My joy cup is filling up today as I write. I need it. I was beginning to see the dregs in the bottom of the cup.
So one clean bathroom later and my spirit is clean too. “Just continue doing what you are doing. Don’t go looking for Ishmael when I have already promised you Isaac,” is my Father’s instruction to me. “I won’t. I can’t afford it. I have lost so much time doing my own thing wanting my own desires.” I want to tell Him again to give me a smaller dream that I really could spend the rest of my “settled down” and raising my kids in a nice stable job and with a mortgage and plans for soccer practice. But it would be a lie. Those dreams have never been mine and He won’t allow me to lie to myself anymore.
What’s my dream? To get all these books published. To see my drama series and my movie scripts on television and film screens across the globe. To spend every day teaching others that this life is worth living well and the Jesus is the way to get it done. What’s my dream? To have a man in my life who is passionate about serving Jesus and who won’t mind that I spend all my time writing and talking about Him, because that is his purpose too. Throw in a few more kids and lots of love and you have a dream worth cleaning a few more bathrooms for.