My Monkey Suit

A domestic goddess I am not. My dust bunnies long ago turned into kangaroos, with little dust joeys sproinging out of their pockets every few days to stir up some fun. The cobs on my ceiling have their own web sites. Cleaning for me is not a last resort; it isn’t even on my list of resorts!

I force myself to clean by inviting guests over. The only problem with this brilliant plan is that I race around the day of the dinner party, dusting, scrubbing, and cooking like a circus monkey in the center ring. My house sparkles and welcomes. The inside of the fridge is so clean you could eat from it!

After the guests leave, however, I am as exhausted as the muscles on both faces of a politician. “Why do I kill myself like this?” I moan, “what possessed me to invite all these people over? Well, at least the house is pretty. Let’s keep it this way forever!”

I know I am only fooling myself when I say this. It’s as realistic as saying, “I will never talk too much again.”

Jesus said we must deny ourselves to be His followers. For my personality, that means more than reading His Word, praying, and praising. My cross has the initials D.D. on it, for “Daily Discipline.” I follow Jesus by washing dishes as well as feet. When I cook a meal or mop a floor, I am denying myself the luxury of laziness. I am taking up my cross and following Jesus.

Don’t misunderstand me; I have not perfected the art of self-denial. Please don’t come to me for “D.D. lessons” any time soon. In fact, I really must scoot now--- I have to get my monkey suit cleaned. Company is coming tonight!