Why I (Still) Hang the Laundry

This week I've been thinking about my laundry time. I've delegated many household chores to my growing children. They wash the dishes, sweep the floor, pick up toys, and fold laundry. So why do I still hang the clothes? About two years ago I wrote about hanging laundry (Thoughts on Hanging Out the Wash), and most of those thoughts are still relevant. I actually do, in a way, like hanging laundry.

As the children have gotten older, they don't always follow me upstairs, so I can sometimes snatch a few moments for myself. Despite hundreds of neighbors living within fifty feet, I consider myself in solitude. I've always felt closer to God outdoors, in nature. My small balcony garden has grown, and now I have twelve potted plants. Chances are one of them will have a blooming flower; I might get to spy a butterfly feeding or a spider spinning. Just seeing the green is refreshing.

My laundry hanging time is my prayer time. I'm often thrown into the day by a child dragging me from sleep. I change diapers, start a load of laundry, prepare breakfast. As I stumble out of bed, I call out, "Good morning, God. Help!" Not until about two (or more) hours later do I have a chance to breathe. I dash up the stairs and begin hanging. I thank God for my green, for my family, for His will. If you're a family member, I pray for you here; if I pray for you daily, it happens here; if I've told you you're on my "laundry hanging" prayer list, this is when I do so; if God brings you to my mind, I cover you. I pray hanging up and taking down. I do at least one load of laundry every day except Sunday. These laundry prayers keep us going.

Many times a child or two will follow me upstairs: to water the plants, to ask questions, to play with the sprayer in the bathroom (Simeon!), to push the buttons on the washing machine (Simeon, again!). But I still pray. Mommas are pretty good at multi-tasking. If I'm having a hard day, my prayers are more serious and concentrated. If the day is going well (or it's a rainy day, which I love - maybe another post in the making), I sing. Remember those hundreds of neighbors? They've gotten used to it, but they used to look out their apartment windows and wonder, "Who is that crazy white lady?!"

My favorite time of day? Maybe when all the kids are in bed and I'm just now getting around to bringing in the laundry. This happens fairly often. Even if it rains, I just roll laundry rack indoors and grab the clothes on hangers, so I still have to take them down later. On the balcony, it's finally cooling down a bit; maybe there's a breeze that doesn't make it into the house. I might see some stars or the moon peeking out behind cloud skittering across the sky. A bat chasing mosquitoes dips and whirls. I breathe deeply; I relax; I take down clothes and pray.

Last night, I felt worn out. I just sat on the rickety plastic stool on which I usually set my basket. My prayers didn't have words. Finally, I mustered enough energy for the final push of the day. Before I stepped in the house, I looked up at the cloudy sky. A lone white crane winged his way home across the sky; peace entered my heart. Thank you, God, for the gift.

Now how could I delegate all that to my children?