Cooking and Cleaning

Saturday I helped clean the guest house, a small house on the church property used for the administrative office and visitors' accommodations, in anticipation of Scott and Sue who are coming in a week with the mission team from Fredericksburg. When I got to the church in the morning Pastor Sasha and a few of the guys were busily set about destroying a pitiful-looking wooden book case that sagged in the corner. The guys were taking great delight in applying a hammer to the thing, and throwing the broken off chunks out of the window onto the wood pile below. I laughed at the scene--boys triumphantly destroying stuff. As soon as the furniture was gone and the trash hauled out, though, the guys disappeared. I later learned that the task of cleaning the place was up to Enisa and I: Bosnian men don't clean.

7 hours and one gargantuan bad mood later, I took out my irritation on a guy in line behind me at the supermarket--I was trying to check out, and all the while he and his cart were ever-encroaching on me, trying to push me out of the way. Because of the impending cart I became so far away from the cash register and nowhere near being able to sign my credit card receipt that, in great hmmph I finally turned, pushed him and his cart back, and said in exasperation, "Ex-CUSE me, I'm NOT finished here." I exited the store with a furious flourish, muttering something about rude Europeans and sexism and no concept of personal space.

I felt guilty later as I cooked dinner for company I was having that night, and as I sipped Cabernet Sauvignon, I repented for my bad attitude, although I think the wine, not me, was doing the majority of the "repenting." I found myself slipping from annoyance to condescending pity:

Poor things, they just don't know any better. Westerners are soooo enlightened--men and women can share tasks like housework, and they don't let it affect their sense of man and womanhood.

Agh! Is there no end to my sinful heart? I was on a vicious downward spiral of bitterness, and went to bed feeling utterly put out. I woke up Sunday morning in no mood to worship, and secretly glad that it wasn't communion Sunday, thinking any communion intake on my part would result in lightning bolts. During worship, though, God "corrected" me, and I left church feeling like a humble dog that's just been whacked with a newspaper for knocking over the garbage can.

Have you ever had this experience? Repenting for one's own "righteousness" is often a worse process than repenting for blatant and outright sin. I let such a minute thing ruin my weekend that I embarrassed myself. The humiliation, realizing my need for God in this situation was a great lesson, I think.