The wet towel version. Who can resist such a challenge?
There is such a heaviness in a load of wet towels: it can
nearly do your back in just to carry them outside to hang. The towelling is
perfectly designed to absorb liquid, and it takes a stiff breeze and – if you’re
lucky – a warm sun to get them fully dry again.
Sometimes, situations in life seem to soak me, and I grow
increasingly heavy, like a wet towel. I absorb anxieties of those I love; I get
soaked by the spray of injustices and sprinkled with effluent from the global
stage. I crumple into the hamper, damp and heavy with concerns.
That’s when I need to be tossed into the prayer window,
where God can give me a good scrub and then hang me out to dry in the wind of
the Spirit, warmed by the Son. Only when I am dry am I going to be of any use
to anyone.
Just like a towel.
