snow out laundry window 003
Originally uploaded by laundrylessons.

Beauty

Nothing about laundry is beautiful to me. I could argue that the drudgery is a symbol of my love for my family. The simplicity of the act should intensify my affection with each folded sock – but it doesn’t. Or that the piles of clothes in each child’s room will connect me to their lives – but they don’t. Bonding over a good game of ping-pong is more my style. Beauty and laundry do not intersect. Polar opposites. But the polar ice caps are melting and maybe my vision of beauty should too.

This week’s artic blast had us confined to the house for two extra days, and the kids high-fived around the family room when their school’s name flashed across the TV. While they were lounging around in their pajamas, I took the opportunity to catch up on the laundry – washing comforters, bath mats and winter coats. My laundry room has a window. Not a little window, but a wide opening above the washer and dryer that looks directly onto the pine trees outside. As the sub-zero wind blew, the scene outside caught my eye.

The pine trees, with cake-like frosting, boldly stood up to the wind. They seemed to taunt, “Hey, artic blast, you’re only making us more beautiful.” I wouldn’t have peered out the window nearly as long if I was just watching the snow, but the pine trees pulled me into their strength. Photographers say the best time to take pictures is during a storm. Nature’s splendor is enhanced by the conflict of the weather.

Becoming bold enough to be the pine tree takes time. The person I’ve become, as a result of my storms, is more beautiful than the one I would be, soaked only in sunny days. Merritt’s disease whipped me around in its blizzard the first couple of years. But learning to stand up to its chill, prepared me to accept the beauty of her life.

God sends the storms. The Bible says it lots of places and I believe it. Sometimes we don’t like His blizzards. But God gets us through the storms so we will cling to Him and claim His five day forecast, realizing that the storms often produce the most beautiful images in our lives.

This summer when I look out my laundry room window I’ll miss the long, cold day I spent looking at the pine trees. Sure the sun will be shining, and I’ll hear the kids playing outside, the day will be beautiful. But I know I’m able to accept beauty in different places. Sometimes I just need a storm to remind me.