The Green Crayon of Despair

It's exactly what it sounds like. I opened the door to the dryer, expecting clean, fluffy, dry clothes. Instead, I found despair. Okay, maybe despair is extreme; maybe it was frustration and anger followed by resignation, but it was bad. There, a silent harbinger of doom resting on top of the lint trap, was the hollow shell of a green crayon wrapper. I pulled out the lint trap and was met with the horror of green drips that cascaded down the screen and puddled at the bottom, already hardened and immovable. As I slowly pulled my children's clothes out of the dryer one piece at a time, the green, oily, waxy stains became larger and larger, streaming down jeans, mottling t-shirts, coating entire sleeves of sweatshirts. The crayon covered more area in its death than it ever could have in its life. The only piece of clothing that had survived the onslaught was an old, faded pair of jeans with a hole in the knee belonging to my seven-year-old, unfit for anything but playing in the back yard. The injustice of it slapped me in the face. I called my mother, but she had no magic solution for the mess. I turned to my old friend, Google. The cure involved a trip to the grocery store, but I came home armed and ready for battle. Two days and three washes later, all but one sweatshirt was saved. What did I learn? To really check all the pockets with a renewed passion before doing the laundry of a five and seven-year-old. And also, that life goes on. There is life after the green crayon of despair. I am living proof. And like the piles of filth I sweep up week after week from a seemingly clean kitchen floor, dirt and mess are evidence of life being lived to the fullest. No leaves are tracked in if kids aren't playing outside in the sunshine and learning to climb halfway up the chestnut tree. My mom related to me that before my grandpa passed away, when he was struggling with Parkinson's disease, my grandma realized how his quality of life had diminished by the stark fact that when she checked his pockets before the wash, they were empty. No loose change, no tractor bolts, no rolls of Lifesavers, no scraps of paper with phone numbers of friends and business contacts. Not a thing. I once washed my husband's pocket-sized notebook in which he would record details of his shift. It disintegrated into little bits. I have found change, a handcuff key, tubes of Chapstick. Signs of life. I have lived through the green crayon, and emerged with understanding and even thankfulness. God, thank you for life, even if I have to scrub it off with Oxyclean, Soft Scrub, and Shout. Help me to have a better attitude about the precious lives I clean up after. Amen. Instructions for cleaning crayon out of the dryer and the clothes: 1) Clean the lint trap screen with Soft Scrub on a damp paper towel. Rinse and let dry. Clean the rest of the lint trap with a toothpick, your fingernails, a butter knife, etc. 2) Clean the dryer drum with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. 3) Pre-treat each clothing stain with Shout, the gel kind with the scrubby brush at the tip. Soak in the washer in hot water for one hour in Oxyclean and extra detergent. Wash as usual. Do this as many times as necessary until stains disappear.

How we have made it this far...

Eleven years of marriage. Eighteen years of being a couple, no breakups (but a few nasty fights into the wee hours of the morning because we refuse to sleep apart or go to bed angry). One beautiful, perfect wedding. Five homes in two different states. Two different police agencies. Six wretched months of unemployment. One giant, uprooting, painful move from which God is still working his astonishing, astounding, and profound good. A month and a half of living with our parents in between moves. Four years of college and four of graduate school, followed by eight different jobs for me. Two years of infertility. Two babies, beautiful girls that stole our hearts and take our breath away, with their beauty, their sweetness, and with how hard they make us laugh at ages five and seven. Two cats and two fish. One critical incident. Two trials. Two distinct moments where I held my breath on the phone as I waited for him to tell me the verdict. Once, my world crumbled. The second time, it stayed intact. Two tough years with too much silence and too much pain in the waiting, but not enough to throw in the towel, thank God. Eight years before in which to grow strong together, and one year since to see how much stronger and deeper we are, having weathered the storm. He is a part of me, and when part of you is hurting, you do not cut it off and throw it away. You take it to a good doctor, spending all you have if necessary to make it better. God is our Great Physician. Without Him at the center of our marriage we could not have made it. I feel such joy in our marriage, such security and contentment, and I know we both appreciate how hard we fought to get here; how much sweeter the victory is when we look at where we have been. God was carrying us in the difficult times, and he carries us now. "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through Him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:12-13