Sunday, October 16, 2011

31 Days: Letting Go of Comforts

The good news is, the rental house has a dish-washer.

The bad news is, it's not parked next to the sink and it's on wheels, so we figured it had to be trotted over and manually connected each time.

The good news is, my amazing father-in-law investigated and discovered that it's hooked up and ready to go.

The bad news is, my amazing husband forgot to tell me this for the first two days that we lived here. (As in, he watched us do dishes and heard me whine about the useless prehistoric dishwasher for two days and still "forgot" to mention it.)

The good news is, it came up in later conversation with his dad and I enjoyed using it twice last week.

The bad news is, it doesn't work very well at all. And it sometimes smells like the shadow of death.

The good news is, it's the largest patch of counter space I have. It's my island.

I know I'm not roasting a wild pig on a spit or cooking two pounds of beans in a cast iron pot over open flame here. I understand that I could be walking three miles to a dirty water source just to turn around and haul it back home.

Still, I find myself grumbly.

I have to chase the thoughts away of the kitchen I daydreamed into existence. The kitchen hard at work right now for a new family, just a mile or two down the road.

So tonight I did dishes in the slow-draining (shudder) sink and I tried my best to forget about the soggy food particles collecting in that trap-thingy. I balanced plates and whisks and mixing bowls in the dish drainer like a prize-winning Jenga puzzle.

I won't pretend that my kitchen situation is "trouble", but can I find a way to consider it pure joy? Can I take the opportunity to be thankful for all that I have, all of the warmth and the safety and the soup bubbling in the pot?

I'd like to believe that my contentment and joy are not situational and I'd really like to believe they aren't directly correlated to the square footage of my kitchen. Heaven help me.

I'm thankful to be on this journey that continues to unfold one page at a time. I'm thankful for the lessons that we're learning, because as much as we set out to do something, there's much more being done inside us.

*For the rest of the Letting Go series, click here.