Last night I was ironing Brian's shirts. Brian wears a white shirt and tie about six days out of the week, both for church and work. I tease him about it sometimes (like last night when he had taken his tie off to cut Mike's hair, then put it back on with his white shirt when we went to run an errand), but really I like it. It is kind of his trademark.
This means we do lots of ironing at our house. I don't love ironing, but I love it when I bite the bullet and do all of the ironing for an entire week and I can put the iron away and forget about it.
Last night I was ironing while Brian and I listened to a book together. I was reminded of a conversation with my mom from a few months ago.
She had just flown in for a visit, and we were chatting before heading to bed. It was one of the weeks where I wasn't on the ball and I hadn't done all of the ironing at once, so I was ironing a shirt before climbing into bed. My mom said, "I love watching you iron."
I responded, "You know I don't like ironing."
She said, "I know."
And then, though I don't remember how she said it, she explained that she loves watching me iron because I do it out of love.
I thought about that last night. I iron because I love Brian, and it is a small way to take care of him, I know that Brian likes his shirts crisp. It helps him to feel prepared and put together for work or church responsibilities, and through ironing, I can help that happen.
Even mundane tasks, when done with love, can mean so much more.
