Occasionally, I run tallies in my mind. I estimate how many meals I've prepared, how many dishes I've washed, and how many times I've vacuumed the floor.
I've matched my husband's socks and stacked his washed and folded shirts on top of his dresser in neat piles as a testament to my work -- a small mountain of clean clothes that announce look what I've done for you.
We spend an awful lot of time quietly serving our families, don't we?
As I sorted clothes the other day, I was reminded of 1 Corinthians 13:5 which says that love keeps no records of wrongs.
It struck me: Love keeps no records of laundry, either.
This isn't a contest. This is love and service in action. I've started talking to God about my girls as I hang their shirts and fold their pajamas. I pray for my husband as I check his pockets and turn his shorts right-side out. Lord knows that he's helped to right me when I've been inside-out over the years.
Do I love doing laundry? No. (Does anyone?) I love the people who wear the laundry. Those full baskets have become a tangible reminder -- not of the work that my family causes me, but of the privilege of having them in my life.
It's love. No records of wrong. No records of laundry.