Lessons from My Kitchen Floor

We live in a home built in the 60's.  The kitchen linoleum is reminiscent of my childhood kitchen floor, in a house probably built around the same time, when home decor came in colors like tuna salad. I've thought to myself before, "If we stay in this home, if we ever renovate, surely we will update this floor."  

On most days, I've looked at that floor with a wrinkled nose.  And in doing so, I've revealed my wrinkled soul, until finally, on a mundane Wednesday and during a rare nap, I did the dishes.

I wiped down the counter.

I put orphaned clutter into stacks and baskets and rows, my odd way of giving everything a place.

I swept and mopped that tuna salad faux tile.

And I, who am typically plagued with a numb heart and delayed emotional reactions, was struck not just with tangible gratitude deep in my chest, but with admiration.  The awe reserved for covers of Better Homes & Gardens and Pinterest inspiration boards.

On most days, as I trudge about my home, in the back of my mind I bemoan the rooms I've tried to decorate.  Why did I pick that color?  This looks like my dorm room.  Clearly my style hasn't matured one bit.  Nothing is organized.  Nothing goes.  Nothing flows.

But on that mundane Wednesday, my kitchen became beautiful.  I scrubbed away the last few spots on the linoleum, accepting those I've found to be permanent, the purple splotches by the sink and the rusty orange smudge by the door--like freckles, beauty marks--and it occurred to me that if you take care of it, you will love it.

My attitude toward my home and its imperfections drastically improves if I tend it when possible, at the erratic pace that comes with mothering a toddler, without dwelling on the countless tweaks and renovations I feel are necessary for me to "love" my home.  In other words, I don't "love" my home and therefore take care of it.  I take care of it, and the emotions follow suit.

If you take care of it, you will love it.

It has become my mantra when disquiet creeps in.

And since then, I've realized the breadth of this lesson.  Which comes first:

The fierce love for my child or the millionth diaper change? 

The positive body image or the guiltless bowl of ice cream?

The edifying faith or the daily sacrament?

The marital peace or the back rub even though you're tired?

The inspiration or the action?

Do I need to unpack the metaphor?

If you take care of it, you will love it.

The take care of it isn't always as simple as mopping the floor and smiling at the rusty orange smudge.  The love it isn't always an immediate result. But for the sake of my family and the good of my soul, I better try, and I better keep fighting, even when--especially when--the task feels as futile as the dishes in my sink.