It is hot. I mean, sweat running down your face, you’d-kill-for-some-ice-water-or-something-equally-cold hot. You’d think that I’d been running a marathon at the state I’m in. It’s laundry day here in Majuro. I stripped my sheets and threw virtually every piece of clothing I own in a bag and walked the few blocks to the Laundromat. Every time I walk to do laundry I almost always turn to Jaimie and say something along the lines of, “Whenever we walk this way I’m reminded we’re in another country.” She tires of me saying it so much, but allow me to paint you a picture. You walk out of SDA, past the small store where all of the students go right after school. “Hi Miss Carrie!” some of them yell, while other “cool” eighth graders refuse to acknowledge your existence (But hey, who wants to say hi to their teachers after school hours anyways? I know I didn’t). You pass about a million dogs, and the same amount of taxis drive by you. A smell wafts to your nose. You know you are about to pass the boxcar-sized dumpster in which all of that area dumps their trash. It isn’t abnormal to see children pawing through the garbage, in hopes of making a cardboard baseball glove or a water bottle treasure. Flies dart out in front of your face, being interrupted from their enjoyment of the dump. You walk past the graveyard, in which all bodies are buried above ground, with white crosses on each and every one. There are no ornate designs or shrines, merely lone plastic flowers that adorn the concrete. Occasionally you will see dogs urinating on a headstone or two, or a naked child basking in the sunrays, lying atop a grave. You continue your journey, past the turquoise house and the big, pot-hole-filled “baseball field”. You see adult women in their muumuus, lying in the sun on the ground. You see mothers singing to their naked two-year-old, and uniformed teenagers walking home from school. You see laundry strung from palm tree to palm tree, a colorful array of muumuus, t-shirts, and basketball shorts. You pass another dumpster, a ridiculously multi-colored house, a Mormon church, and a giant satellite. What only takes a few minutes seems like hours in the blistering sun. There is no wind, no relief to your dampened back.
The walk back, though, feels victorious! There is no burden of two week-old laundry to haul, your arms are free, your burden is lifted! The wind seems to have sprung from its hiding place, the leaves rustling to the rhythm of your steps. In a way, life is like my walk to the Laundromat. The journey is hard, blistering, and at times you just don’t want to go on. You want to drop your heavy bag on the ground and sit in the shade. But once you have dropped off your load, you can walk lighter, smile brighter, and look forward to the reward of clean laundry. In the same way, when we drop our burdens off at our heavenly Laundromat, our yoke is light, our hearts are happy, and we can walk away feeling renewed, looking forward to what we know is ahead.
As lame as it might sound, my trip to the Laundromat showed me an aspect I need to work on in my spiritual life. I get caught up in complaining, or letting things become huge ordeals. I allow myself to become molded into this cynical, unhappy person. Don’t fall into that trap. We are all who we are and where we are for a reason. Let my trip to the laundry be a lesson for you and learn to enjoy the little things, please. =) You’ll never know how much you can learn from a little thing.
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