A Chinook blew into town this week, a welcome respite from the unseasonably cold and snowy weather we have experienced in Southern Alberta most of September and October. The snow-eating Chinook, has melted most of our snow here on the Ponderosa, and has allowed us to bask in balmy temperatures above 20 degrees Celsius (that’s 68 F. to my American friends). The other day I decided to take advantage of the warm temperatures and tackle a chore I had been procrastinating for a year: wash my windows.
Okay, before all the Martha Stewarts out there judge me, I do clean my windows on the inside of the house fairly regularly, but it’s the outside that is the real chore. I got a couple of estimates this past Spring on what it would cost to get some professionals in to clean all the windows of my home. I nearly fell over at the cost! So, being basically cheap, I said “thanks, but no thanks” and decided to tackle the job on my own. Well, at least the windows I can reach…I’m afraid of heights so I’m not climbing any ladders for the second story ones. I’ll live with the dirt.
First, I decided to see if there was a sure-proof, streak-free method to get the job done. Pinterest has a billion ways to clean windows and after trying a few of the environmentally friendly ones on my inside windows I decided that none of them work to my streak-free satisfaction. Store-bought products also did not give me the desired streak-free shine. I was becoming a bit discouraged. So I thought I’d combine some blue Dawn dishwashing liquid, with a bit of the jet-dry stuff I put in my dishwasher. I figured if it’s good for my glassware, it’s got to be good for my windows. Filled up my bucket with hot water, got a scrubbing brush and squeegee and made my way outside.
After spending several hours scrubbing, squeegeeing and yes, groaning while putting my unused muscles through an unfamiliar workout regimen, I completed the arduous task and stepped back to admire my handiwork. The Dawn-jet-dry mixture had done a fairly good job of cleaning my windows, but no matter how many times I washed and rewashed and squeegeed, inside and outside, I still saw visible streaks. To add insult to injury, a squawking magpie did a fly-by and mocking my efforts decided to deposit an offering onto one newly washed window!
That settled it! I threw up my hands in defeat and declared to the circling magpie that my entire window-washing escapade had been an effort in futility. I dumped out the dirty water, poured myself an iced-tea and then fumed silently while the Chinook wind blew dirt back up on my newly-cleaned windows. I determined I was never going to waste any more time and effort trying to strive for perfection at a task that was never going to meet my standards no matter how hard I tried!
As I sat and seethed over my iced-tea, my husband came home and I pointed at my windows accusingly. “Look!” I said exasperated, seeing only the visible streaks on the glass. He beamed with delight and patted my shoulder, “You cleaned the windows! They look awesome!”
I did a double-take and grinned. I had been so focused and disappointed by all the streaks, the flaws, and the imperfections on the windows that I couldn’t see the improvements! Isn’t that a great lesson for us in life?
Thank-You, Lord, for my husband who appreciates my efforts, and loves me, just as You love me, despite my noticeable imperfections!
“And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.” Colossians 3:17
“Judge not, lest you be judged.” he said somewhat proudly, and lit a cannabis cigarette. The news report continued to show various people in our nation’s capital lighting up to celebrate the legalization of pot in Canada today. I just shook my head and changed the channel.
It had been a tough game. A tough game to watch, and it was a tough game to play. I could tell that my son was frustrated as I watched him skate to the bench after a particularly brutal shift on the ice. His midget hockey team was up against a rival out-of-town team with some boys on defense who outweighed him by fifty pounds or more. A finesse player, he hadn’t been able to skate or stick-handle his way past that defense. They blocked him and hip-checked him soundly into the boards each time he got the puck. The coach called a time-out and the players circled in to get some much-needed words of encouragement. I’m not sure what was said, but in the next shift, the boys looked fired up. When my son was passed the puck behind our team’s net, he looked up the ice with fierce determination. As a spectator watching the events unfold, it seemed like he was skating in slow motion. He managed to weave his way almost effortlessly past the opposing players only to face the tallest boy on defense who stood like a sentinel barring his way. I wished I had the presence of mind to film what happened next, because it was talked about for months after. In a moment of desperation, my son slid the puck to one side and then ducked under and between the boy’s long legs to pick up the puck again so he could fire a wrist shot past the stunned goalie and into the net. The home team fans, myself the loudest, erupted in one great cheer as my son skated past his bench, high-fiving his teammates as they congratulated him.













