Dirty Dishes

I don’t like doing dishes.  I was married to someone who did.  I guess we made a good match.  I never understood how my husband could like doing dishes…until tonight.

 For the past few days, all of my kids and grandkids have been home. Everyone, except for Justin and Allison, has stayed at my house.  That means 5 kids, 4 daughters-in-law, 1 son’s girlfriend, 6 grandchildren and myself are all under one roof.  That translates into a lot of food and a lot of dishes.  Today, after opening presents, my children spent the day with other family members.  I spent the afternoon cleaning up and catching up on dishes.  As I washed, my mind went back to a sign that always hung in my grandma’s kitchen. It said, “Thank God for dirty dishes.  They have a tale to tell.  While other folks go hungry, we’re eating very well.”  Even though I have to admit I wasn’t thinking about people who may be wondering where their next meal was coming from, I was thinking about the blessing that the dishes represented.  I had a house full of people that I love and the sound of children’s laughter filling the air.  I got to watch my children work together, play together, laugh together and love each other.  My granddaughter prayed for me to feel better when I fell victim to the bug that was being passed around the family.  The untouched snow that once filled my yard now shows evidence of children, big and small, playing.  There are toys everywhere you look, a mountain of towels that are waiting to be washed, a package of baby wipes waiting for the next diaper change, fingerprints and hidden crackers that I’m sure will be discovered for weeks to come. 

Yes, the dishes have a tale to tell.  They tell me that my family is home and that’s the best tale that I can think of.  Maybe my husband was on to something.  Maybe he knew the story that dirty dishes told.