Maybe you should wash the red trousers separately, since they're new and could run, a niggling thought skipped around in my head like kernels of unpopped corn just thrown into a hot pan. But I was lazy, and besides I was washing everything on cold so it should be fine. There wasn't anything in the load that would get ruined. I turned the dial, slipped on my tennis shoes, and left for an evening walk while it washed.
45 minutes later, after doing some arm exercises with a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a jar of nutritional yeast in the other as makeshift weights, I went to get my load of washing out. I threw everything into a plastic bag and brought it back to my room where I began to hang the items on my indoor drying rack. Then I pulled out my gray short-sleeved sweater that I wore with my little black dress. It was no longer gray. Now it had a hue of red, as did a pj top. I sighed inwardly, I had nobody to blame but myself. The offending red trousers, thankfully confined somewhat in their damage by having been washed in a white mesh bag which had now turned pink, looked innocently up at me.
A quick Google search recommended I use rubbing alcohol on a white cloth and try to rub out the stains by transferring them to the white cloth. A trial with a cream towel wasn't too successful and not wanting to spend my entire evening scrubbing like a washerwoman in the 1800's, I pulled out my stain remover bottle. I didn't have high hopes for it; the other times I'd used it for a grease stain it hadn't been too successful. I needed to try something, though, so I read the directions on the back of the bottle and hurried back to the washing machine with the two gray-pinkish items.
After tossing them back in, I poured another generous amount of detergent in the first little drawer. I had no clue whether the stain remover should go in the second or third drawer but decided to put it in the second just to be safe. Then I turned the dial to coloured clothes this time and left it to spin for the next two hours.
When the washing machine finally stopped spinning, I opened up the door and gingerly reached inside, wondering what I would find. I pulled out the gray sweater. It was gray. Not tinged with pink, but completely and totally gray. The pj top still had a couple pinkish spots but they were faint and nobody would see them anyhow so that was okay. I smiled in gratitude as I sent up a quiet thank you to my Father. And I didn't even pray first! I thought.
It's not such a huge thing, I know. The gray sweater could have been ruined and it wouldn't have ruined my life. I'd already burnt a hole in a sheer brand new blouse during my first week here, so I wasn't a stranger to clothing catastrophes. Yet somehow God worked a miracle, with a bit of stain remover, and restored my sweater to me so I could continue to enjoy wearing it.
Somehow, it seems to be somewhat reminiscent of my life. There are times the Holy Spirit is quietly whispering, Maybe you shouldn't say that, go there, eat that, waste your time doing that and I push those unpopped kernels aside, thinking I know better, thinking that even if I mess up, it won't be so bad. Thankfully God is gracious and merciful and many times He comes along with the stain remover, fixing my mistakes and restoring to me what was beautiful before.
He gives me more than I deserve. He is good and He is good to me. How can I doubt Him then with the steps ahead that I cannot see? How can I fail to trust that He is preparing a life of fulfillment and joy, not only in the life to come, but in this life also?
He has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of His own purpose and grace. ~2 Timothy 1:9
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