A kind of readiness

"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me." — Psalm 51:10

Saturday morning and the house is clean and I am tired.

I cleaned yesterday afternoon — swept the kitchen, mopped the hallway, wiped the counters, scrubbed the bathroom sink, which did not need scrubbing but which I scrubbed anyway because when I am tired of thinking I clean things, and yesterday I was tired of thinking. I had been thinking all week — about Earl, about the fence, about the store on Main Street, about the psalm and the green pasture — and by Friday afternoon the thinking was full and I needed to empty something, and the sink was there.

The prayer this morning was the list and the minute and nothing more. I did not sit in the minute long. I did not feel the gold on the wall or the silence that is deeper than silence. I just said the names and sat and then got up and poured the coffee and went to the porch.

The porch is cold. The rocking chair is cold. My hands around the mug are the warmest thing out here and Biscuit did not follow me because Biscuit has decided that the stove is the only place worth being from now until spring and I cannot say he is wrong.

Create in me a clean heart. That is what David asked for after the worst thing he ever did, and I have not done the worst thing I ever did this week. I have just lived in the house and prayed the list and walked the fence and remembered the store and sat with the psalm and cleaned the sink, and this morning the heart I have is tired and it is not dirty and it is not clean. It is used. That is a different prayer. Create in me a heart that can be used again tomorrow.

Lord, the house is clean and the heart is tired. That is a kind of readiness.