Dirt floors.

Yesterday, I reached under my bed to pull a shoe out from underneath. While there, I noticed how disgusting underneath my bed actually was.

Uh, sweep much?

So I added it to my to-do list... sweep underneath and behind bed.

My to-do list is already pretty full, what with the baby coming in just 3 more weeks, so I was sort of annoyed to add anything else to it. But not annoyed enough to not do it, because while I'm not compulsive about too many things, dirt bugs me. I like a clean house... doesn't mean that clean house isn't often cluttered with stuff, but there's a difference between messy and down right dirty. Know what I mean?

So, I was committed to removing the dirt. And I was bugged. Feeling blah. Resenting the dirt and wishing it had never found residence under my bed in the first place.

Then, I came across this picture.



That's my husband, on his mission in Paraguay, with two members of a family he baptized. They are standing in front of the family's home. If you look closely, you can see that the wall of the structure is made from a refrigerator box. See the word Electrolux on the side? The roof? A thick, canvas tarp.

And suddenly wood floors covered with dust and dirt, underneath a nice soft bed, in a comfortable house with running water and adjustable temperatures, seem like something to be grateful for rather than to begrudge.

Because my floors could just be dirt, my walls made of flimsy cardboard.

My husband wrote on the back of the picture, "Awesome family!! They are so poor - but they have the biggest hearts and such faith."

Today, I drink perspective, I savor gratitude.