peace and washing dishes

What I'm listening to right now: The Secret Garden by AURORA

When I remember Grandma's little white and blue house nestled in the trees on the hill in the mountains, I remember it bursting with people; I can hardly picture it still and quiet. In my memories, the laughter and bustle of loved ones fill each moment. Grandma had seven children, 18 grandchildren, and 23 great-grandchildren. The last two were born shortly after she passed last summer, but she adored babies and I know she would have been so proud to add two more little leaves to her family tree. If there's one legacy she and Pap left, it is that every precious soul is welcome - through marriage, adoption, blended families - they loved each grandchild and great-grandchild as their own flesh and blood. 

I remember her sitting on her padded kitchen stool in her black orthopedic shoes, washing each plate and fork and knife, or the colorful plastic cups that had each of her grandchildren's names written on them in Sharpie marker (I recently thought of these little cups and wished I had been able to keep mine). The low-ceilinged kitchen was lit by the yellow glow of incandescent light, and as life happened around her, she listened and smiled softly, dipping her rag in the soapy water again and again, scrubbing slowly and purposefully. She never complained about the number of dishes, or that she was the one who was usually leaning over the kitchen sink. She never seemed bothered or even weary of washing the never-ending stack of them that piled up after every meal.

I thought about Grandma today as I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for my counter-top dishwasher, which remains one of my favorite purchases ever. I thought about all her little kiddos that she loved and cooked for and cleaned up after, and wondered how she did it: three meals a day, dishes for a family of nine. I dislike cleaning the kitchen enough that I might actually keel over if I had to wash that many dishes by hand.

But is there any greater evidence of a full house, a full heart, and people gathering in love and fellowship than a full sink? I think my grandma was aware of that whenever it was filled up again. She found so much peace in preparing food for the people in her life and taking care of them. Though washing dishes may be a thankless, mundane job, I'll always remember her at the kitchen sink, loving her people, an image of peace and selflessness.