When the work is crushing and the heart is pounding and there are those creeping, incriminating thoughts at night (but she promised to...., but he said he would...., but why was that bright lie told?...., but why would he do that?..., did she really just?)—that's when I know that it's time to go clean. To push back, stand up, haul away, Windex through, get the bleach into the sink, scrub the bath tub, yank the weeds.
A clean house begets a clear heart begets a rinsing away of the interfering but's. It sets me free to do the work that must be done.
I am about to return to the land of Florence. Thank you, Tamra Tuller, for your careful, loving read.
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