Today I cleaned all the floors in my house on my hands and knees. A bucket of hot, soapy water (changed out multiple times…those floors were disgusting), a rag and some elbow grease.
Before you think this is some kind of weird humble brag about how clean my floors are, let me explain.
This summer we stopped house parenting after 10 years. That has meant so much transition for our family. There has been grief and joy and lots of adjustment and change and growth and learning how to commute to work. But there was also a move into our home off campus. We spent from Memorial Day weekend until the day before we moved in on August 4th renovating our house. There were walls that used to exist that no longer exist and every surface in the main level got new paint and new cabinets were placed and drywall hung and lights installed and the floors refinished. To list it all out makes it seem trivial the way a 30-minute HGTV show makes home renovations seem trivial. But it was a work of intense effort. The hours and days I spent sanding and refinishing our floors left me a lot of time to think and those thoughts had to come out. So for as much sanding as I did, I did almost equal parts writing.
This is what I wrote on one such day:
Wouldn’t it be great if growth happened overnight? If one day we planted seeds and the next morning we awoke to a harvest? If we decided, this area of my life needs some renovation and the progress was instantaneous with just the thought that change was necessary?
Why it doesn’t happen that way, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand this side of the grave.
What I do know for damn sure though, is that growth is slow and steady like the tortoise in the fable. It takes consistency, repetition and discipline to make any kind of real and lasting progress. If you want to refinish the hardwood floors in your house, you can’t just sand them down once and be done with it. You sand them, edge to edge, corner to corner. Then you vacuum every spot of sawdust and you start again, edge to edge, corner to corner. About this time – if not sooner – you want to be done. You regret ever starting and you begin to imagine that perhaps the way the floors are now could become a new trend. It could be called ‘I give up’ or ‘Too tired to continue’ or ‘No thanks.’ The progress is painstakingly slow. No change is perceptible at this point and if you could notice any, it is not equitable to the amount of effort that has been expended thus far. Somewhere in your contemplation of how much this sucks and how painful this all is, the decision is made to continue. It’s not as much a decision so much as it is a curiosity of what is attainable on the other side of all of this work. A desire to see the change possible that compels you to move forward yet again. So you stand up, change the sandpaper for the twenty-third time and begin again and again, edge to edge, corner to corner, vacuum and repeat.
Finally, the sanding is complete, the old varnish on the floors is just a memory and all the dust has been swept away. For a moment you admire the work that you’ve done and you allow yourself to notice the ways that things are different. The change is subtle, so much so that someone who didn’t know you before would hardly perceive a difference. But you notice. Is that pride you’re feeling? A grand sense of achievement? You have a strong desire to post about your growth, to call someone and tell them, to take pictures and show them to strangers. But the moment is short-lived as you realize that the work has only just begun. The discipline it took to bring you to this point will be required to carry you forward as well. The work of growth is one challenging, boring, slow, tiring, unglamorous step forward at a time. And as you turn and look over your shoulder at the steps you have taken, it often feels as though no distance has been covered at all. But out ahead, you see what is possible and you have a nagging sense that you will get there if you just keep going. So you do. Sand, sweep, tack, finish. Sand, sweep, tack, finish. Taking breaks when you need to, fueled by good music and the encouragement of those who know you best, you continue.
There is a quote that lives on every inspirational poster about it not being about the destination, but the journey. It’s the kind of quote that makes me roll my eyes. I’ve been to Hawaii. It was definitely about the destination. The journey to get there was less than awesome. But maybe – and I can’t believe I am about to agree with a poster of a road leading into a sunset hanging in every guidance counselors office – there is some truth in that. We all want to get to the destination, to see the finished product, the after picture, to reap the rewards of the change we have been so disciplined to make. But if it happened overnight, if there was no hard work, no arduous journey to get there, would we appreciate it the same? If we woke up and the seeds we planted the day before were ready for harvest, would we miss the joy of watching those seeds take root and become the unique plants that bear the fruit of the labor we have given? If all it took to refinish 800 square feet of hardwood floors was one time through with a sander, then that would be awesome. Kidding. Kind of. If it could all happen without the discipline and repetition of hard work, we would maybe miss out on the small joy of being able to look over our shoulder at the ground we have covered by taking one small step at a time toward our destination.
Today, as I was going over every square inch of those hardwood floors again, I couldn’t help but remember these words, these feelings. The discipline, the effort put forth this summer is definitely noticeable now. The before and after pictures are a small testament to the hours spent and sweat spilled.
But there is a truth about disciplines. It is not a one and done process. It is a continual move toward growth. What would it be like to spend all that time refinishing those floors only to let them collect dust and dirt? To be scratched by the daily coming and going? It takes perpetual effort and discipline to continue the move forward. It takes elbow grease and a bucket of hot soapy water and a rag that used to be white and is now a grayish brown color.
We can rejoice too when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation and this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.
Romans 5:3-5
Daring to Hope 