On Saturday, my mother and I crept into our freezing garage,
dusted off cardboard boxes, heaved them upstairs, and splashed our walls with green,
gold, red, and silver. Most of the decorations went up easily enough, curling
up in last year’s allotted slot, but a few needed creative placement. When the
last box was empty, I sneezed and slunched into an armchair.
But only for a minute. I wanted the house to look nice, but
open boxes and countless fallen plastic pine needles stood between me and my
goal. With a final effort, I forced myself to take out the vacuum while Mom put
the boxes away.
VAROOM! said the vacuum. But the needles refused to leave
their comfy carpet home. I peeked under the vacuum and sighed, exasperated. The
brush roll stood motionless.
I gave myself a pep talk. Ok, fine, I can fix the belt. I can do it. I braved the cold garage
again, this time for a screwdriver. Four screws later, I discovered that the
belt had not merely slipped off its shaft, but had cracked and broken.
Gah! Fine! The needles
win! Frustrated and drained, I gave up. I turned on the Christmas tree
lights, turned off the room lights, and sat.
In the warm glow of hundreds of minute, colorful suns, the
needles didn’t look as prickly and disappointing, and the upside-down vacuum
seemed more peaceful. I noticed the star on top of our tree, just above a small
nativity ornament.
In light of that nativity, I saw how utterly ridiculous I
was to be angry at a broken vacuum. I laughed at myself.
God, how incredible
you are. How unimaginable your gifts. In comparison, clean houses are less than plastic pine needles. Forgive me. And thank you. Thank you so much.
*****
Turns out God cares about little things, too. When I showed
the vacuum to my father, he said that yes, of course we have an extra belt in
(you guessed it) the garage. Fifteen minutes later, God had added one clean
carpet to the extensive list of gifts he’s showered on me.
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