Thank God for a Cold Shower

I’m on my way to speak at a retreat this weekend. I have friends riding with me and I’m trying to be mindful of the time. Looking forward to a warm, no, hot, shower, I peel off my jams, throw my towel into our towel warmer (!), turn the heater on in the bathroom, adjust the faucet and wait for the room to gloriously fill with steam. I wait. And wait. The water is lukewarm, and you know what Jesus says about being lukewarm. Rather than watching the steam rise, I am consciously aware of the anger rising within me. My first response is to mutter a few choice words at this injustice I am involuntarily experiencing. Yes, I love Jesus, but sometimes I cuss a little. Ask my adult kids. When they first heard me, after their initial shock, they cheered me on as the imperfect mom they’d always known I was but longed to hide from the world. (Not for my poor choice of words, but for my authenticity and attempt to be real.)

I throw my robe on, march myself downstairs to interrupt my husband’s quiet time, and inquire about the lack of hot water. All the while that unsettling feeling of entitlement continues to rise within my soul. “A hot shower is not a luxury,” I tell myself. My husband quickly comes to help rescue me and offers to bring hot water from the hot pot in the kitchen to at least wash my hair. As he hurries down the stairs, the Spirit reminds me of my daughter who has just returned from a three-week survey trip to Africa where she and her husband and children will soon be moving. A great day for them will be having enough water, at any temperature, for one of them to take a shower.

And there it is. My mind refocuses on gratefulness for having water. I call down to my hubby not to bring the hot water up, and I proceed to wash my hair and even sponge off using cold water. And I think of all the things I’m grateful for in these moments. Thank you, God, for shampoo and conditioner, a towel warmer (truly a luxury!), a warm towel, lotion, a comb, bathrobe, and clean clothes. The list continues as I make my way to the bedroom to get dressed.  

As I don my pink tennis shoes from the closet bursting forth with various shoe options, I notice a large doggy footprint in the middle of my shoe. I am reminded of last weekend when we visited friends who had an ultra-friendly dog who tromped through the mud on his way to greet me. And instead of feeling annoyed, I am overjoyed with fond memories and a grateful heart for a generous friend who shares her farm and her food and her family (and her dog) with us. I pack my bags for the weekend, thanking God for all He has given me. And I especially thank Him for a cold shower.