I didn’t wake up Saturday morning planning to clean my bedroom ceiling. I really didn’t.

The big plan for the day was for Sandra and I to do homeschool planning for the fall. She teaches and I pretty much do nothing, so when she asks me to block off some time on a Saturday, I need to make a way. Even when there seems to be no way. We’ve tried for weeks now. But all the stars finally lined up this time.

So we locked ourselves in the bedroom with a strict warning to the kids not to bother us unless they had an appendage hanging by the thread of a tendon. Sandra started digging into books, papers and computer files. With so many homeschool details I could see swirling around inside her head, I knew that it would be a few minutes before she needed me. I also knew that she only required my presence for big decisions, not the day to day down and dirty ones. So I began vacuuming our bedroom as I waited.

Then I dusted. More time passed, so I cleaned the ceiling fan. It’s amazing how something that’s always moving can accumulate so much dust and lint. What’s disgusting to think about is when you stop it for several hours and then fire it back up. The settled junk on the fan blades scatter.

Fan blades cleaned, I still waited. The younger, more impatient me would be agitated by now.

Why did you say you needed me, but yet I’ve been waiting on you for 39 minutes? I could be doing something important like pulling weeds. (Yeah, right.)

But the older and wiser me, the one better tuned into the Holy Spirit, realized that she did need me. My presence was supportive. Helpful. She was not alone. She has a lot on her shoulders and it can be overwhelming.

I was Aaron holding up her Moses arm.

So when the ceiling fan gunk scatters, lots of it lands and sticks on the ceiling. Such an appealing sight when you finally lay down exhausted at night and look up. With the rest of the room now immaculate and I’m still waiting, I tackle the ceiling.

I finish and Sandra finally speaks. Great, she’s ready for me. Yep, she sure is.

“Can you dust the big painting now?”

Of course, dear.

Ultimately, I do help her with logistical choices, financial decisions and scheduling conflicts. The broader issues. But the big boost for her was knowing that I was down in the trenches with her. Not complaining. Fielding questions as they came, Googling something when she needed it, keeping the kids at bay.

And the bedroom is cleaner than its been in a long time. One question for my daughters who normally vacuum our bedroom.

Is it normal to fill up the Dyson bin 3 times just in my bedroom?


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