Y’all. I have been cleaning this house all day. All. Day.
And before you picture something out of a Hoarders episode — let me stop you. It’s not like our house was filthy. I’m just talking deep cleaning. The kind where you suddenly realize baseboards exist and that ceiling fan blades can actually hold enough dust to knit a small sweater.
Why? Because it’s Monkey Boy’s birthday party weekend, and that means the extended family is coming. Now my family is pretty chill. For example, my mom used to stay with me during the week and keep the kids while I worked before Hubs and I got married. So she understands my house is never going to be spotless because between six kids, carpool and a rather demanding career on both our parts sometimes there’s just not enough hours in the day or strength left to pick up the same mess or wash the dishes before bed.
So here I am, scrubbing like I’m auditioning for a Mr. Clean commercial.
I’ve wiped, washed, mopped, organized, and possibly frightened my children with the intensity of my cleaning glare. I’m that mom who starts might actually lose it if the boys don’t start closing their shower curtain or I the girls don’t pick up the pile of half clean half dirty laundry out of the floor.
And yet… after all this, the house still doesn’t look perfect. There’s always one more thing. A crumb trail. A toothpaste blob. A dog hair tumbleweed rolling across the floor like it’s in a western.
But here’s the thing I thought about — somewhere between bleaching the grout and bribing a child to pick up Legos:
We do the exact same thing with God.
We try to “clean ourselves up” before we come to Him.
We think, “Let me just fix this one thing first. I’ll pray more when I’ve got my life together. I’ll go back to church when I’m not such a mess.”
But that’s not how Jesus works.
He doesn’t wait for the house to be spotless.
He walks right in — muddy footprints and all — and says, “Hey, I’m here. Let’s do this together.”
When the prodigal son came home (Luke 15), he didn’t stop at an inn to clean up after the pigpen. He just came home. And his father ran to meet him — robe, ring, feast, the whole shebang.
Or think about Jesus and Zacchaeus (Luke 19). Zacchaeus was up in a tree, a tax collector, not exactly the squeaky-clean or most popular type.
Jesus didn’t say, “Go wash up and come find me.” He said, “I’m coming to your house today.”
Can you imagine Zacchaeus panicking? “Wait! I haven’t Swiffered in weeks!”
That’s us, friends. Trying to clean up our spiritual junk drawers before inviting in the One who already knows what’s in them.
So as I scrub the counters for the 400th time before the family descends, I’m reminded:
My worth isn’t based on whether my house is spotless, my kids’ socks match (they never do), or if the toilet sparkles.
It’s based on the grace of a God who loves me — dust bunnies, crumbs, chaos and all.
And yes, I’ll still mop before company comes…
…but thank the Lord I don’t have to do the same for Him. 🙌
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