And Then There's That Mystery Meat...

There it was. Lurking. You know, that stuff that lives in the bottom shelf of your refrigerator. Behind the week-old leftovers and the month-old orphan hot dog, lurks the most mysterious of fridge-dwelling creatures.

If you hadn't moved the fridge in yourself, you would swear the last homeowners must have left it there. When did I need hoisen sauce and red curry paste? Why did I buy a gallon-sized jar of roasted red peppers and capers? And what in the name of organic chemistry is living in that Gladware?

This was the state of my refrigerator yesterday. And after twelve years of marriage, my husband and I are beginning to communicate directly about such things:

Husband: "Hey, all the kids are in preschool now and you promised I'd be able to tell. Do you think you can clean the refrigerator?"

Now, for you lovely ladies who are bristling with righteous indignation, let me tell you a little about my husband. He cooks. He cleans. He does laundry. He never 'babysits' our kids, he parents them. He has joyfully paid for my graduate school, paid for my childcare while I volunteer, and generally been the husband-of-the-year for the past decade or so. So when he gives it to me straight, I generally try to take it. And he's right. I'm the designated cleaner-outer of the fridge, cause I'm into disinfecting, and I have a strict rule about expiration dates.

So yesterday I flung open that fridge door and started cleaning out and cleaning up. I sighed deeply though. And I didn't like it. At that very moment a week before, I was gearing up to head to Atlanta for some speaking engagements. I wondered at that time if I'd really like traveling to speak, if I'd do OK, if I would love speaking to strangers as much as I love teaching at my home church. And *SIGH* it was awesome. Better than I could have expected. So enjoyable, so fun to be with other women. *SIGH* Because I felt like I was doing what God's really made me to do. *SSSSSIIIIGGGGHHHHHHH* And, strangely enough, cleaning out my refrigerator from disgusting items just doesn't feel the same. I thought of a devotional I read recently, where the author quoted Brother Lawrence, about doing everything for the glory of God, "I turn my little omelet in the pan for the glory of God." Oh, one more sigh.

It just doesn't always feel that way, does it?

So I tried to set my mind to understanding how cleaning my fridge was for the glory of God. I stretched my brain while I scrubbed old meat juice from behind the produce drawers. I thought while I wrinkled my nose at the smell of decaying broccoli. I thought some more as I pried congealed potatoes out of the bottom of a Corningware. Hmmm. Still nowhere near as enjoyable as talking to a bunch of women, seeing them nod along with me, feeling the sense of the Spirit encouraging us along in an almost palpable sense.

And then I remembered some passages from the gospels, where the disciples seem to consistently miss the point with Jesus. When they tried to send children away from him, and he corrected them, bringing the children to himself and blessing them. When they were impatient to know what Jesus' kingdom would look like, and what big roles he would give them, and who among them would be great. And Jesus replied:

"Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but so serve and to give his life as a ransom for many." Mark 10:42-44


I think I want Jesus' words to make sense immediately. I want to see the results of my service. I want to feel my influence, and see how my fridge cleaning plays out into the lives of my husband or my daughter as she helped me. I want guaranteed results. I want to know that it's worth the effort.

But that's not what Jesus promises. That's not what he requires. So much of my life is about reasoning it through, understanding. In the little book I'm reading now, Looking for God, author Nancy Ortberg says that our modern day mode of operating is to view things with a Hellenistic, or Greek, perspective. We tend to believe that insight promotes change. I know that's a big ol' lie. I can think all I want about how I should be different about X,Y, or Z, but most of the time, thinking about changing just isn't enough. So I still can't make the fridge cleaning more enjoyable, even if I think about it for a thousand years.

But a Hebrew way of thinking, the way Jesus would have lived and taught, says obedience first, understanding later.

Maybe I'm thinking about it too much. Just obey. Just choose to serve. And let God handle the rest. Do I think that changes my position on the joy of teaching and speaking? Not at all. But in the off days, in the in-between spaces, I will keep cleaning the fridge. And praying that God will help me find his glory, even in mystery meat.


Your turn:
What tasks today are difficult to find the "glory of God" in? Invite God into the task with you, and rest in the knowledge that when we serve others, we please God.