I love the smell of laundry. It might be the fabric softener. I even like bleach, though Cindy tells me it’s really not good to use. I do anyway, mostly for the smell. Sometimes when I come home from the office I can smell that someone’s doing laundry, since I pass by the dryer duct. It makes me happy, and I’m suddenly like Mr. Rogers walking in the door. I reach for my house shoes and cardigan till I remember I don’t own a cardigan.
Artists can be so hard on themselves. I believe this accompanies artistic talent, pushing us to reach for higher heights in art. And as Christian artists, we should want, like court musicians, to play our best for our great King and Master Artist. If not for perfectionism would any of the great artists (musicians, painters, writers, poets, dancers, actors, photographers, sculptors, etc.) have produced the masterpieces we treasure today? If not for perfectionism, wouldn’t art be mediocre? Wouldn’t all singing be a karaoke performance?
Sometimes after bath time we allow Micah to go diaperless. He enjoys this freedom, the cool air caressing his baby booty and producing a fresh buoyancy. Without the constriction of a bulky diaper, he runs around aimlessly, not caring where he’s going as much as how long he can go for. At some point childlike innocence regresses into shame, like Adam and Eve when they discovered their nakedness. Consequently, many of us search our entire lives for the best fig leaves to cover ourselves, all the while growing in our self-consciousness. But worshiping Jesus consists of becoming less self-conscious and more aware of our Savior.
The other day I was ironing my clothes for a wedding. I often iron my own clothes, but since I seldom wear a tie and jacket I faced a dilemma. Did I need to iron the shirt that would be covered by a jacket anyway? Maybe just starch the collar and sleeves because they stick out? Hmm.
So, waking early on Sunday mornings is harder for me in the summer than winter. Probably because, like the sun, we stay up late all summer long. I’ve written about how I love Sunday afternoon naps. I don’t like naps on Saturdays, though, because I always startle awake. Groggy, I assume it’s Sunday morning and, because of the afternoon sun, I think I’m late for church. Making matters worse, I usually dream during Saturday naps about church the next day.