It is probably natural to assume that a fairy godmother has visited me and waved her magic wand and made all my struggles regarding keeping up with the housework disappear — at least, it is natural for me to expect that any day now she will show up, tapping on my window with her magic wand to get my attention, freezing her poor fairy wings to a crisp and having to cling to the iron railing of the second story window so that she won’t fall down with frozen wings. (But perhaps the rest of you do not actually keep an eye on the windows for such things?)

In any case, there has been no occasion of opening the window and letting such a fantastic visitor tumble in; so all assumptions that there has — I say this gently: it is so kind of anyone to entertain high hopes for me — would be misplaced.

I generally have a day where I can scarcely even sustain the effort to concentrate after a day where I have been *very good*.  I was *very good* yesterday: I read for several hours, washed dishes for at least another several, and did laundry, and this on top of making myself presentable for the duration.  In consequence of which I could hardly drag myself out of bed this morning, have only the concrete reading of a Psalm to show for the past hours, and a pathetically small little mountain of crumpled kleenex as a byproduct of going about to establish my own housewifely righteousness.

The Bible tells us to redeem the time because the days are evil.  Wasted days are one of the biggest evils that I feel can never be redeemed; and so today seemed like a very evil day indeed.  But as I was altering the landscape with my kleenex mountain, poring over the woes of the world, and especially of my loved ones, and some of my own woes, and calling this ‘prayer’, I remembered some things I read yesterday, and knew what they meant better today than I did then.  Indeed, it seemed like the meaning of the words I read then, was really only a meaning that you understand not with your head when you hear it, but with your heart when you remember it.  And the meaning was simply my Saviour Himself, coming into those words and making them mean, in the middle of all the wasted hours, Him.

So it strikes me that all days really are, anyway, are lengths of time for Him to come into: and that all time is redeemed where He is.

And that I would rather look up and find that He has come in and redeemed my time any day, than to look up and find a frozen fairy knocking on the window with her magic wand, clinging perilously to the iron rail with her shimmery cold toes, promising to turn me into Super-Redeeming-the-Time-Woman, begging to be let in.

(Not that I wouldn’t make her a cup of tea, of course, and discuss the weather: but I do prefer more human company.)

Advertisements