At 2:30 am, Sophie awoke and the intestinal eruptions commenced. Then two cups of rocket fuel coffee later, last glance at the clock ticked ten in the morning, kid and canine eject simultaneously like geysers— violent, unrestrained. A messy Sunday ensues. Several changes of clothing and bedding later, the six year old and the lab sleep. Sophie naps on the couch strewn with coloring books, a worn copy of Why Germs Make Me Sick, because for the life of me I can’t explain the concept as well as the book can and inquisitive little Sophie inquires about the origin of her wrecked Sunday. In between naps, she requests the movie,Little Women, for her viewing pleasure; she claims it relaxes her.
Then I hear from Haiti. The father daughter duo send a video from the hotel. A calm pours over me like the Tension Tamer tea I often gulp down on rough home schooling days. A bit past noon, an email from the duo arrives, photos included. As I study the photos and the captions from my daughter, my messy Sunday suddenly transforms into a sacred sanctification Sunday, right there in my kitchen.
This young girl told the dynamic duo about her hunger so they rummaged through their bags and pulled out neatly wrapped packages of food; the plentiful sort we dismiss daily. They offered her a lollipop; the kind the bank tellers at our drive thru window give out for free and I usually throw away or stash in the console. She gobbled the offerings. They will feed her the Bread of Life, too, which fills her belly to overflowing, eternally.
My so called messy Sunday prevented me from going to church and hearing the sermon from my fifth row back, cushioned seat. Not really. My man preached this morning and even though I don’t know what he said, His words made me squirm in my comfortable computer chair.
My messy Sunday turned sacred as I viewed this home, some Haitian family’s cherished home, as I scrub my carpet, bathe my sick child, launder my soiled clothes using hot or cold water; I have the privilege of a choice. Messy turns sacred as I offer my kids a menu of possibilities for breakfast and they get to refuse from the list of choices. I pray, like Paul,” may the God of peace himself sanctify [me] you wholly.” And I didn’t need to leave my messy house this Sunday, the Sacred found me.
Denise Sultenfuss says