Once upon a time, just a few short years ago, I sported a mop and a broom and all other kinds of cleaning stuff. That’s what custodians do. They clean . . . well, they’re supposed to clean. I mean, that’s what they get paid to do. However, every time I walk into a public restroom, I want to hunt down their cleaning cart and clean for free just to kill all the germs jumping around!
I admit it. I’m a clean freak. Even as a kid I couldn’t rest till my room was spic and span and everything in its place. So, today, when germs see me coming, they run screaming for cover.
And I’m spontaneous when it comes to cleaning . . . or anything I do for that matter.
One night while cleaning the church I attended and the church school, I decided to clean and organize the kitchen and pantry, wiping down cabinets, putting all the utensils back where they belong, and clean the stoves and refrigerators; none of which were on my job description. Never mind that I hadn’t even begun to clean the huge dining room and zillion restrooms, and empty and take out all the trash which was my actual job description.
But I was having a blast making everything sparkly clean for the following day just to get all messed up again. Why did I do that? Again and again. WHY?
Suddenly, all that spontaneous energy up and died on me leaving me feeling like a ragged, wrung out dishrag. With several more hours of cleaning to go, and feeling more dead than alive, I called my husband to come help me.
It was midnight.
He was already in bed.
He had to get up and go to work the next morning. Early.
Yet, without a word of complaint, he came to my rescue.
I often look back on those fourteen years as a custodian for the church and school, those fourteen years of giving above and beyond the call of duty, of feeling that no matter how much I gave of myself it was never enough, of feeling anxious and worthless and unappreciated. Yet, in spite of those feelings, I could lay my head on my pillow each night knowing that I gave it my best. That no matter how hurt and frustrated I felt and how many times I wanted to quit, I’d get up the next morning, drag my butt out the door, and start the never-ending, thankless, frustrating process all over again.
I’m thankful for those fourteen years of working, learning and growing, but I’m glad they’re many moons behind me and that I never have to relive them again!