Preacher’s Wife

Something I started doing a couple of years ago was cleaning houses. I’d say it’s good for my soul because I could spend 4 hours cleaning and working out all my frustrations with whatever was going on, and leave happy.

Covid dwindled my workload, but I still have a faithful few that love me coming and love the smell the Thieves Household Cleaner leaves behind.

One of my happy clients passed away last month due to Covid. I had cleaned his home the week before he got sick.

I met a client while heading to his home, and she has been such a blessing in so many ways. We mostly talk about God…and I get a few things cleaned. She’ll ask me if I believe in _? …and I’ll reply of course! It’s in the Bible, and she will smile ear to ear. She is in her 80’s and moved from California about 5 years ago. She was not feeling well today. She didn’t tell me, but I could see it in her eyes. She was surprised I knew.

I clean for one other lady in that apartment complex. She goes to church with me, and I know she doesn’t have material wealth. She has lots of material…to make quilts, but I’ve always known (since I met her) that she’s struggled to pay for her medications and has had to go without, so I with good conscience can’t accept money from her. She is also in her 80’s, but her health is declining daily. Unfortunately, earlier last year she was prescribed a medication that is now essentially killing her intestines. She is already swollen and in severe pain, but never do I hear her grumble or complain. She’ll just tell me she’s terminal, and she’s ready. See, she’s looking forward to heaven…to singing praises to the Lord. Her thoughts dwell on her future in eternity with her a Maker.

I have loved cleaning homes, but I’m getting to where I know each time I clean, it could be my last with these two beautiful ladies, and it makes my heart heavy. So, I’ve decided to stop taking more clients. It’s a reminder to me that I have my mom behind me and I need to spend wise time with her too.

I also look forward to heaven, to singing praises to my Maker (and not being off key), and to have my room open up to the River of Life or Ocean of Life (just in case there’s an ocean. 😉)

This picture is one the second lady gave me to read today, so I took a picture of it. I’m so blessed to have such beautiful souls show me how to grow old.

This weekend I was privileged to be invited by my son and his wife to her hometown in Florida. Her parents live in a beautiful condo neighborhood that sits up against the Intercoastal Waterway. As we looked across the waterway, we see million dollar mansions…perhaps billion dollar mansions. One of the mansions belongs to Rod Stewart.

On the back side of these mansions is the Atlantic Ocean. Since beaches are public, the billionaires build guest houses across the ocean view highway so they can have a little bit of privacy on the beach.

I got to see fishermen, surfboard wannabes, very physically fit runners (my legs ached after just walking a few hours in the sand). There were wealthy old couples taking a walk holding hands, little children trying to dodge the waves, and of course the beautiful teen girls bearing (almost) all to get that perfect tan.

It has been my dream for many years to live by the sea. I don’t really want a mansion, just a place I can soak up some sun and enjoy the peaceful sea air and waves.

I don’t believe the Good Lord is a genie. I know He answers prayers, but I have no idea if He will grant me my dream.

Having CPTSD is I suppose my little bit of hell on earth, and my hopes and dreams to be by the ocean day in and day out are very real.

However, I remind myself this is not my home. I have a home that isn’t part of this world. It is a home in Heaven with my Heavenly Father.

One person that I clean for monthly passed away this past weekend from Covid. He’s headed to his eternal home now. I also clean for his childhood friend who could die any day because her intestines are literally dying. Once they are gone, she will be gone. I’m never promised another day with her. One thing she loves to tell me is that she can’t wait for heaven. She doesn’t care about seeing all those who went before her, she just wants to sing praises to our Creator.

I do hope I will be able to save up and have my house by the sea. But even if I don’t, I have a better home waiting for me.

God bless.

I am college educated. I graduated with honors, something that was very special to me because I barely made it to high school. I’m the only one of my siblings with a college degree.

I was born into a family of chaos, created by the man of the home, who turned out to be either a sociopath or a psychopath. I honestly can’t tell, because mental illness is rampant on his side of the family.

The home I grew up in, was in the city. It was a nice little, family neighborhood home, with three bedrooms and one bath…pretty typical for that time. I remember moving into the house when I was 3 or 4, and my mother was so excited to be out of a trailer. My room, she excitedly painted bright white…with bright pink decorations, to give me the girl room of her dreams…and I loved it.

It wasn’t long after we moved in that my mother became very sick. So much so, that I often tell people I did not have a mother growing up. She was not able to be a mother. Not allowed.

It is my opinion, and I share it with my brother, that Mr M (who a normal person would call “dad”) tried to kill her with a poison. It left her with a speech impairment and the inability to use her right hand.

She did go back to work, but home life went downhill. Mr M was a hoarder, and he was an abuser of every person in the family in every way. Our house stunk. We couldn’t see the tv for all the boxes piled up in front of it, and we couldn’t sit on a couch without sitting on a pile of books. My nickname at school became “stinkpot”, and that pretty much summed up my home life.

That was 40+ years ago now. The house no longer belongs in the family, and I no longer stink. Although my bedroom could use some help, the rest of my house is pretty clean. My mom lives in a little cottage behind our home, and it is neatly decorated and comfortable to be in.

About a year ago, I decided I needed to work outside the home some. I had tried to be a stay at home mom and I homeschooled my children, but a horrible moment in time came around, and my entire childhood was unearthed. Mr M was caught and went to jail on two felony charges.

To keep my mind healthy, I decided to pick up a few cleaning jobs. Today was cleaning day for this week. I went to two apartments in the same building for people over the age of 60.

It is extremely hard for me to charge a widow or a single elderly lady, so I’ve worked out different arrangements for each lady that are totally against my cleaning policy, but I really just love to sit and talk with them, and I can’t charge for talking…even if I do get some cleaning done. I think it’s healing for us all.

The first lady met me in the apartment lobby one day. She rarely leaves her apartment but that day she was in the lobby. I lost her name and number but I was able to locate her through residents there within a week.

Her background has many similarities as mine, so we often share our struggles and our successes and our love for our Creator. She calls me her “little cleaning lady” who barely takes money. She has become a dear friend, and my $25 hour fee drops to $20 total for 2-3 hours.

I also clean for a lady from church. I refuse to be paid by her, because I know enough to know she doesn’t have very much money. She just about fired me because I refused payment, but we worked out a deal for her to donate to our local Christian School as able instead.

She is dying. We are all dying I suppose, but her time is winding down rapidly now. I don’t know how many more times I will be able to clean for her. She took a medicine in shot form this past spring that started the death of her intestines. There is no cure. Her abdomen is swollen and she’s in pain daily. However, she refuses to complain. She loves to talk about heaven and she can’t wait to get there so she can sing praises to the Lord. She knows where she is going, and she is not afraid. She’s longing for her new forever home.

I do a lot of thinking while I clean. I’m almost 50 years old, (with a college degree,) and here I am cleaning houses. It is not how I pictured my adult life, but it actually brings me much needed healing.

There’s something about making clean something that is very dirty. Maybe that’s why my Heavenly Father loves to teach me in the New Testament that Christ’s blood cleanses us from our sins so we can have that hope of eternity in heaven with Him someday. Maybe that’s why He tells us our sins must be washed away…removing the dirt of sin.

I long for heaven. But today the Lord needs me here. My childhood comes back to haunt me regularly but as long as I stay busy and focused, I stay happy.

I’ve been a preacher’s wife forever it seems. I have loved being married to a preacher and raising my children in the church alongside my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.

Several years ago, a dear friend who happens to be the daughter of a preacher told me she understood that we, as preacher families live in “glass houses.”

At first I didn’t really understand what she meant, but now I do. Some people are so consumed with how others live, especially preacher families, that they look into our lives, our homes, as if they are made of glass…meaning we are under the microscope so to speak, and our families are on full display.

I can honestly say I believe this to have been true in only one place we have lived. I’m thankful for my Christian brothers and sisters who see us as humans who make mistakes and pick ourselves back up and correct ourselves.

We have been tremendously blessed to have been loved so deeply by our Christian brothers and sisters…after all, we are on the same path and we need each other to reach our destination.

It happens that my personal life has pretty much been on public display the last few years…the ugly truths of my family of origin. But I have had an army of support and love that could come from no other than those who know what hurt and love are all about.

So, I will use some of my past experiences to show you how the Lord has helped me and my husband build a beautiful home. Not a magazine worthy home, but a home of safety, love, warmth, and full of the Lord’s patience and forbearance.

Until next time…the Lord bless you and keep you…