When I was a little girl, there were certain requests my mother gave me that I wasn’t especially fond of. One was washing silverware. In a family of five, it always seemed like standing at the sink washing the daily silverware took forever. The other small favor was to take in the laundry from the clothesline and fold the clothes. That wasn’t so bad since I got to go outside and listen to birds and feel the fresh air on my skin. What I disliked was socks. Clothespin after clothespin of socks.
What's the big deal, right? I knew my own socks well enough. And I could discern my mother’s socks quite easily. But my two brothers loved those white athletic socks which to me all looked the same. The problem was that to them they were not all the same. Some white socks belonged to David and some white socks belonged to Chris, and I was the lucky oldest child who had the unique privilege of sorting and matching their freshly laundered socks. Don’t even get me started on the proper matching of my Dad’s many black, navy, and brown socks.
I guess at some point, either I or my brothers fussed about this minor detail enough that our mother took a black sharpie and put initials on my brother’s socks, so we’d all know which socks belonged to which brother. Good solution!
So, now I’m all grown up and the only problem I have with socks these days is the adult mystery of how the dryer eats socks, and how we always end up with one odd sock! (By the way, that never seemed to happen when socks dried outside in the sun!) What is a problem is that I have many more concerns than matching socks, and sometimes I get lost in the heaviness upon my heart. That was true the other day. I was frustrated by the madness of bureaucracy and all those man-made obstacles that pull us away from being present to ourselves and others. I hate wasting purely good time on serving a master of nonsense! And of course, alongside of that fact is the fact that I’m keenly aware of so much suffering… everywhere it seems. Daily we all have to dig our way out from under hardships, illnesses, and broken hearts. Sometimes it feels more than any of us can bear, doesn’t it?
So, in the face of all of that, do you know what I did? Do you know what tended me that day? Socks on the line. I was at my parent’s house, and they had both put in a full day, and I noticed the clothes on the line. I watched my Dad’s shirt flap on the line, and my mother’s kitchen towels and a row of clothes pinned socks. And I suddenly found myself grabbing the clothes basket and walking through the fence gate to fold Dad’s shirt, to smell Mom’s kitchen towels, and to match up that row of socks as my heart grew lighter and my eyes glistened with gratitude.
What's the big deal, right? I knew my own socks well enough. And I could discern my mother’s socks quite easily. But my two brothers loved those white athletic socks which to me all looked the same. The problem was that to them they were not all the same. Some white socks belonged to David and some white socks belonged to Chris, and I was the lucky oldest child who had the unique privilege of sorting and matching their freshly laundered socks. Don’t even get me started on the proper matching of my Dad’s many black, navy, and brown socks.
I guess at some point, either I or my brothers fussed about this minor detail enough that our mother took a black sharpie and put initials on my brother’s socks, so we’d all know which socks belonged to which brother. Good solution!
So, now I’m all grown up and the only problem I have with socks these days is the adult mystery of how the dryer eats socks, and how we always end up with one odd sock! (By the way, that never seemed to happen when socks dried outside in the sun!) What is a problem is that I have many more concerns than matching socks, and sometimes I get lost in the heaviness upon my heart. That was true the other day. I was frustrated by the madness of bureaucracy and all those man-made obstacles that pull us away from being present to ourselves and others. I hate wasting purely good time on serving a master of nonsense! And of course, alongside of that fact is the fact that I’m keenly aware of so much suffering… everywhere it seems. Daily we all have to dig our way out from under hardships, illnesses, and broken hearts. Sometimes it feels more than any of us can bear, doesn’t it?
So, in the face of all of that, do you know what I did? Do you know what tended me that day? Socks on the line. I was at my parent’s house, and they had both put in a full day, and I noticed the clothes on the line. I watched my Dad’s shirt flap on the line, and my mother’s kitchen towels and a row of clothes pinned socks. And I suddenly found myself grabbing the clothes basket and walking through the fence gate to fold Dad’s shirt, to smell Mom’s kitchen towels, and to match up that row of socks as my heart grew lighter and my eyes glistened with gratitude.
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