The first year, I don’t remember how it started. I don’t remember if I was just the first one to figure out how to work it, or if I offered to finish a load so that someone else could go to bed while I stayed awake to wash my own laundry. I don’t know if I offered to throw someone else’s things in the same wash, or if it was the plight of a team mate needing more time in the day.

Whatever the case may be, I quickly became the ‘mom’ of my first trip to Japan, and that included doing all of the laundry. Of course, the laundry wasn’t as fun as playing school nurse when my buddy Josh scraped his knee really bad. I mean, how was I supposed to know that the bandage we bought had adhesive all over the inner face of it? Everything was in Kanji, Kana, or a set of characters equally unrecognizable, and what was written in English characters was certainly not in any order I was able to read. In hindsight, perhaps that walk to the store would have been a good one to have invited Taka or Takara along for… whoops! But back to the story…

The second year, it was just part of the plan from the beginning in terms of where my focus would be: BEK Room leader… Women’s BBQ… laundry.

I never would have expected that going on 5 years later, the laundry would continue to teach me about who I am. Allow me to paint the picture.

I grab one of over a dozen burgundy BEK shirts, shake it out, and start to fold. I also start to sing along. I can see the band from where I am. They are practicing for PoP Time.

…You unravel me
With a melody
You surround me with a song
Of deliverance
From my enemies
‘Til all my fears are gone…

The folding slows down.

…From my mother’s womb
You have chosen me
Love has called my name
I’ve been born again
Into Your family
Your blood flows through my veins…

I think back to the year before when God began to show me that I am allowed to have a voice – to speak up for me, to speak up for him, to speak up for the weak. I think of how I learned that sometimes having that voice means using it to tell myself to stop being hurtful. I think of how I had seen that loving does not equate to condemning.

Then I think of how the grace gets to apply to me too and that I had a skill set beyond what I’d known so far. I think of my role at my then-church and my barista job back home, the kids I’d taught and coached before and the customers I’d helped over the years.

Oh shoot! I can’t look down because everything’s blurry. It’s okay because I can tell that’s a sock and this is a pair of… well… let’s just say I put both in a pile to fold at the end because, for whatever reason, that’s what I do with sock-drawer contents.

I giggle as I find the sacred skinnies for those two goons downstairs. SMH… guitarists! And then it comes.

“…You split the sea
So I could walk right through it
My fears are drowned in perfect love
You rescued me
So I could stand and say
I am a child of God
I am a child of God
Yes, I am a child of God.”

Can I tell you something? I wanted to be down there so badly. I’m sure Josh looked up and saw me belting along. Could he tell how emotional it was? Probably not. I think I texted him about it. I’m good at impulsive texts that may or may not always be welcome. ‘You never said anything’ was the reply I remember though maybe it was all in my mind.

I love music. Absolutely love it. But no, I never would have said anything. See, I’m an odd sort of bird. I’m good at doing the laundry. I can make the shopping list, plan the lesson, organize meetings, and keep notes. I’m good at doing the laundry. I go get chai tea lattes before the service, ask for coffee orders, and can put together worship packets. I’m good at doing the laundry. I know how to put the drapes on the same direction, arrange the flowers in a vase, and keep the coffee station stocked. I’m good at doing the laundry. I have a good hand shake, I’m fond of my smile, and I’ll try my best to remember your name. And even when my fear is gone, I’m good at doing the laundry.

Maybe it’s comfort in knowing I’ll succeed, or maybe it’s easy because it’s not new. But then again, it brought me peace to know someone else wasn’t ‘stuck doing it’. Did I want to be down there with my hands raised? Absolutely. Did it matter that no one was around to hear the harmonies I made? Not at all.

I think about that moment more than probably any other moment in ministry-related life… probably even more than the moment I stood in front of the women of Fukushima 1st Baptist and my dear friends the year prior, sharing a part of me that I never share… a moment it took me about 4 hours to come back out of… a moment that catapulted me into becoming who I am today… and yet… even more than that.

I took a Spiritual Gifts assessment not too long ago, and it took me back to that second floor foyer area with an overlook to the sanctuary. No, being a worship leader wasn’t my first gift, but it also wasn’t very far down the list. Do you know what was at the very top? Doing the laundry. Not literally, of course, but that’s the real-life example of how I’m wired.

And do you know what? I’m good with that. It’s not disappointing. It’s actually pretty reassuring. I will never forget that white tile floor, the memory wall, the benches I’d stack the folded laundry on, or the table I’d use to work a puzzle in the wee morning hours while I waited for the dryer. God was in that space. We had meetings there that changed my life when I coupled them with everything God had begun teaching me the year prior.

I am who I am, and I am who He made me to be.

Do I ever get jealous and want to play a different role? I do.

But when I step back into my giftings, I am reminded that there are multiple parts to the body. I am no less and no more, no worse and no better. I am beautiful in me. And so are you.

Maybe you are the worship leader. Maybe you are the accountant. Maybe you are the planner. Maybe you are the worker. Maybe you are the prayer warrior. Maybe you are the pastor.

Whatever role you play, whatever gifting you have… you are beautiful, you are loved, and I thank you.

Always be good to you. You’re worth it.