In my kitchen I have lots of dish rags. I've got red and white ones, thick red ones with scrubbie stuff on the back, super old stained-dirty, dirty dishrags I've had since we got married. This morning when I was fixing Handsome some breakfast I had an epiphany of sorts. Let me try to explain...
I love the way the pretty red and white ones look laying across the divider between the sinks. They're a bit prissy though and I don't want to get them too messy. Almost like I'm trying to protect them from the grime of everyday life. The red ones with scrubbie are great for cleaning a messy stove top but they don't really absorb so they kind of just slosh around if you have a spill or very much liquid. But when I have a really messy job I go for my old faithful dishrag. It's been there for me all these years without much appreciation.
As a newly wed learning to find my way around the kitchen that dishrag was bright and new. It didn't have a choice about staying in the drawer because it was the only one. It had to dig right in to those boil overs, the pot-of-crap beans that I never could boil without scorching and dishes that sometimes didn't get washed right away.
Then the kids started to arrive. That dishrag got a workout because there was no dishwasher! High chairs, spilled juice, baby food, and all those meals that were prepared because as a one income family trying to finish college there was no eating out. Sure there were some new dishrags but old faithful, he felt like a friend.
So here I am 22 years later and I don't know how to throw it away. And I realize, I'm a lot like that dirty, dirty dishrag. I'm here, I'm faithful, I clean up messes. I'm not beautiful or new. But over time I'm the proven go-to and I'm always ready to step in and do what I can for the good of my family.
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