The Art of Disinfecting

When two of my children came down with the flu, I did what any good mother would do. I began the process of killing off the pesky virus. While Ethan looked up at me with his red, weepy eyes, his cheeks still flushed with fever, I began stripping all the sheets off the beds. Using the "Sanitize" setting on the washer, reserved especially for a crisis like this, I steamed the life out of the invisible germs. I also boiled any medication dispensing devices, little cups and droppers ans spoons, and I sanitized the parts to the nebulizier. Finally, as Amelia attempted to sleep off her illness, I retrieved from under the kitchen sink every cleaner I had with germ killing power: sprays with bleach, antibacterial wipes, and most importantly Lysol. I would spray and wipe, spray and wipe, any hard surface I could find. Nothing was immune to my Lysol; door knobs, countertops, light switches, and sinks were drenched in the virus murdering mist. And when I had gotten all these surfaces, I started again. Spray and wipe, spray and wipe. I was determined no one else in my household would get sick.

But, much to my dismay, my husband began to cough, and lay in bed with fatigue, dragging himself to his feet long enough to go to the doctor. Then I began to feel the ache in my back and moving up my neck, and although I didn't feel horrible, I did not feel good enough to take care of three sick people. But I did my best. I divvied up and distributed medicine. And then I would spray and wipe. Spray and wipe. By the time my husband and children were on the mend, I was feeling a little worse, and then I lost my voice. It seemed my attempt at disinfecting had not been good enough.

Life is often like a dirty countertop. It's always a little messy. Even if you look at it from way back, and it looks fairly pristine, when you get right up on it, there's always something unsightly: a grease smear, a splatter of soda, some crumbs from morning toast. Or even some invisible germs. We can try our best to spray and wipe away all the imperfections, only to find new ones cropping up. Life is not meant to be perfect. Or to be wiped perfectly clean. We are made strong through frailty, and made more wise through imperfection. To think that we can create a void to these things is to create in ourselves even greater weakness and disappointment.

Now, that is easier said. As I still set forlornly staring at my half empty can of Lysol, I wish it had taken all the germs away. I wish my throat didn't feel like it was swollen to double its size in the morning when I wake up. I wish my son and daughter didn't have to miss several days of their lives and activities during their bout with the flu. But I will be fine, as my whole family will be. And our immunity will be even stronger.