I know what I want on my tombstone…At last, her laundry’s done.  -Kathleen Norris     The Cloister Walk

Seven people in our household adds up to lots of laundry, sometimes 3-4 loads a day!  Laundry gets done in our house seven days a week, holidays included.  It’s no wonder that I’ve come to consider myself to be somewhat of a laundry expert.  Please note it is not with pride that I give myself this title, but rather, with disdain.  Laundry is one of my most dreaded chores.

A priest once told me that laundry could be a prayer.  “Easy for you to say,” I scoffed,  “you only have to do laundry for one, your laundry prayer only occurs once or twice a week instead of once or twice a day!  I happen to be a prayer snob.  I prefer to offer daily prayer in other, less mundane ways.”

But it seemed, that ever since he told me that laundry could be a prayer, I kept running into the “laundry as prayer” theme over and over again.  This constant attention to praying with the laundry has caused me to ponder the possibility of this type of prayer more than I would have cared to normally.  My usual habit was to do the laundry as quickly as possible, chuck it all into the dresser drawers, and then try to put it out of my mind.

I think that the only time in my life that I might have considered laundry to be a real prayer were the years when my children were babies bundled in cloth diapers. I tried to accomplish  the daily chore of lugging the heavy, smelly diaper pail down two flights of stairs to the basement as quickly as possible to limit my time spent inhaling the odor.  Although, I can’t forget the time when those diapers smelled sweet instead of disgusting.  That was when two-year-old Justin poured all of my perfume into the diaper pail.  He was ahead of his time for the scented-diaper market now so popular in the disposable diaper world!  Anyway, I would quickly deposit those diapers into the hot bleach water, run the wash cycle twice for good measure, and then hang them, now sparkling white and fresh, on the backyard clothesline to dry.  There was definitely something prayerful and old-fashioned about standing outside in the backyard with clothespins in hand, creating white surrender flags with the diapers.  It was as if I was surrendering my life to God so he could use me in any motherly fashion he needed me to be at that time.  Then, quietly folding those diaper flags of surrender into neat piles contained in the laundry basket, symbolized how contained I felt in my life at home with all those babies.

But today, as I sort endless socks, looking for the lost partners, I could use a little guidance to find the prayer in it.  Maybe I could focus on how those socks cover feet so sturdy and strong as they wander God’s lovely world.  But, then again, maybe sock-sorting is really meant to be a penance instead of a prayer.  I can just imagine the hushed voice of the priest in the confessional… “As your penance, say three Hail Mary’s while you fold the family laundry!”

I know that I am in good company in my complaints about this never-ending chore.  Not too long ago, my family and I visited one of those living history museums that showcased life from the 1800’s.  One of the houses on display belonged to an immigrant widow who made a fortune washing other people’s laundry.  The tour guide explained that whenever someone had some extra cash, the first thing they did was to pay someone else to do their laundry!  The letters that women wrote to each other were filled with complaints about how much they hated washing the clothes and hanging them to dry.  I guess some things never change, do they?

Maybe I spend too much time worrying about whether or not laundry is a prayer.  Maybe it’s time to teach my children to press their own shirts, and press forward in my heart to ever-new ways of praying to my God.  Could it be time to consider the dusting?

Copyright 2009 Anne Bender