One Sunday afternoon not long ago I had the opportunity to go up to my sister Darlene’s house in the rural countryside of Illinois. It was a beautiful, cool, breezy day as we sat on her long front porch, mom in her wheelchair, dad, my brother, and sister and I, all in a row and looking much like the Culhanes on Hee Haw. It’s apple season, and Darlene had a gang of them. Not wanting to appear totally useless, I volunteered my services as “apple peeler”. There were buckets and buckets of apples of all sizes and descriptions. I’m a city girl, so I don’t know my Jonathan from my Granny Smith. All I know is most of them were red.
We sat there together and peeled and talked and sometimes sang along with some old Gaither stuff on a tiny boom box. It was a Kodak moment if there ever was one, and I preserved a part of it so that I’ll never forget that day.
I’ll have to admit that after four hours or so of peeling, my hands were beginning to cramp up. My fingers are accustomed to typing on keyboards and playing the piano, not hours of peeling and paring. At the end of the day when I kissed everyone goodbye and headed that little Toyota back south, my knuckles were a little swollen and my hands were badly stained. I had washed them back at my sister’s house with little success, but I didn’t really think much of it. I expected it would all come off the next time or two I washed my hands. Wrong!
I scrubbed them again and again before I went into the office on Monday. I was embarrassed to hand the girl my money as I stopped for my early morning gotta-have-it-to-function Pepsi at the Hit N Run. I reluctantly reached out to accept the envelopes and packages from the college kid who picks up the mail every morning. (Kids always think adults have leprosy anyway, so let’s add some major discoloration and watch him REALLY back away.) By lunch time I was trying to think of creative ways to pay my check with a “look mom, no hands” technique, but I didn’t think anyone would accept a ten spot that’s been clenched in my teeth. All day long I had been washing my hands. That night at home I started to give my son Jim a slice of cheese and he said, recoiling, “Uhhhhhh, mom…..your hands……”. I tried to reassure him they’re clean….really.
At this point I’m getting desperate. I have an important meeting tomorrow…one of those make you or break you kind. I had tried everything I could think of to remove the purplish hue from my hands. I rehearsed in my mind the look of disgust I expected to see when I extended my hand outward to greet the head honcho. He’ll probably say, “Rigor mortis setting in a finger at a time, is it?” I shook my head to dislodge the thought.
What am I going to do? If this were 1955, I wouldn’t have this problem. I wonder if K.T. Oslin still has some gloves I can borrow. Michael only had one…..that won’t help me. I researched stain removal on the internet, but got only laundry-related answers. So I started asking questions of other people. How do I get rid of this stuff on my hands? Their solutions were all over the place. Did you try dish washing liquid? Yep. How about rubbing alcohol? Un-huh. Peroxide? Did that. Lemon juice? Twice. Hairspray on a cotton ball? Yeah. Hairspray NOT on a cotton ball? That too. Try some tooth paste, the kind with baking soda. Their suggestions covered everything from sand to sandpaper, but no matter what I did the remnants of the stain remained. After a while, my hands became dry and chapped and sore from all the remedies I’d tried.
Thankfully the meeting cancelled. What a relief. Who wants to shake hands with the Creeping Crud?
It’s been a few weeks now, and finally the stain is gone…all but one tiny little spot on the side of my right index finger. Who would have thought that pretending to be a “country girl”… one time…would leave such a long-term mark.
People all around us are going through life wearing the marks of the decisions they have made. What will it hurt if I dabble in sin…just this once? Who will know? But sin has a way of staining us like nothing else can, and even though we may lay aside the sinful act, we carry with us regret and guilt and feelings of worthlessness. We’re ashamed and embarrassed and can’t hold up clean and holy hands before the Lord.
It’s funny that in all the lists of stain removal suggestions people shared with me, not one of them mentioned blood. But that’s God’s solution. Got a stain left over from a sinful life? Wash it in blood..the blood of Jesus. That’s an odd solution, isn’t it. Maybe. But anyone who’s ever tried to remove a blood stain from a piece of clothing knows that once it’s set in, it’s nearly impossible to budge. It wants to stay there….just like Jesus wants his blood to cover you from now on.
What can wash away my sin? NOTHING but the blood of Jesus!
Have a wonderful October.
Janice
Author: AGM
| Author's Website: http://absolutelygospel.com/
Written: 10/02/2009
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Category: Janice Crow
Comments: 2
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Janice, you are a wonderful writer. Thank You for the Reflections. I have been waiting for this, last month you brother Bill set me up with you Reflections and they are all wonderful. I had stains that Jesus Blood has truly washed away. It truly is nothing but the Blood of Jesus.
Thanks so much for your kind words. God Bless!!
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