Our house is for sale, which means everyone at this address is living under the Levitical Law of Realtors.  The work is never done.  I now know every ding and crumb in this house intimately.  Me and my toilets are on first name basis now, and I’m crocheting a sweater from all the spider webs discovered.  I became demon-possessed the night before the first showing, scrubbing walls until the sun came up, as stains appeared on every wall.  It turned out to be five o’clock (a.m.) shadow.  That same day, the realtor had the nerve to run his finger over the inside of my teenage son’s bedroom door frame and show me the dust.  “That’s not dust,” I explained, “that’s all that’s left of his favorite gray hoodie from 1997.”  I am getting smarter though.  Just as we finished dinner the other night, I told John and Tim to remove their socks.  We danced, wet rags on our feet, to Tim’s collection of John Lennon music (“Imagine there’s no baseboards, dadadadada, it’s easy if you try, dadadadada…nothing to wipe or dry for….) and got the white tiles looking almost off-white again.  

All this to say, a women’s work is never done, and don’t think for a minute yours is either, because living under the law is tyranny.  The law says, “Oh- you missed a spot…”  And, “Here, let me see your rag for just a moment- aha! I thought so:  there IS dust on the top of your garage door opener remote box.”  

How wonderful that Jesus from the cross said, “It is finished.”  And meant it.  Romans 8:2 says, 

“…because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death…”  

Someone needs to tell the realtors.   Does anyone own a riding vacuum cleaner?

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