the rag

As winter warms we traded in Chili the Dog’s thick fur coat for a choppy-looking light-weight windbreaker. That is to say, Chili got a haircut. Consequently little dog hairs abound in the kitchen, which is just inside from the patio where the deed was done. Between hairs and crumbs from small children enjoying German bread, the kitchen floor receives much attention. This morning as I wiped up, I refolded the rag in order to keep the hairs inside while I used another part of it. Previously hidden, I suddenly saw a dark, ugly ink stain on the rag in my hands. Just when it was far from my mind, a reminder came: Daddy’s jeans continue their life because this rag took the ugly stain from them. Stain remover would remove the stain from the jeans, but the ink had to go somewhere in the process. In this case, I’d used this rag to absorb the ink as it departed in response to my scrubbing…and scrubbing…and scrubbing.

Unexpectedly I was reminded that I live because someone else took the stain of sin from me. And at the least likely moments sin still raises its ugly head, a reminder that it is vanquished…but not yet fully gone. Sin didn’t just vanish into thin air. It went somewhere. It went into Jesus. What better place to find myself thanking Him than already on my knees. Even in so mundane a task as mopping the kitchen floor, truth can bring us to worship.


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