Last summer I moved to a house that does not have a washer and dryer. Having lived in student housing most of my independent life, I did not come equipped either. So I chose, at least for a while, to use this as an experiment in becoming a part of the life of the community I live in. These are my stories from the laundromat.
1. The first time I went must have been in the morning because there weren't many people there. I chose my table, got my laundry going, and sat down with a book. A few other mothers were there with their young children, chatting in Spanish and wandering between the washers and the arcade games at the opposite end of the room. Soon I noticed a small ball rolling in my direction. Behind it was a boy, maybe two or three years old. I rolled the ball back to him, which he caught with a shy smile. I smiled too, and went back to my book. A few more times the ball rolled my way again. Each time I smiled and handed it back, his shy smile grew into a bright grin. Once he came running to me with a bright blue glob of something I hope came from the toy machine in his hand, chattering in two-year-old Spanish. Eventually his mama called him and he left, waving his little fist squeezed around his bouncy ball.
2. Each time I go to the laundromat (well, okay, on the good days), I go not just to wash my clothes, but with the intention of building relationships and connecting to my community. The thing is, though- I'm an introvert. Walking up to a stranger and beginning a conversation with small talk is just not my thing. And I spend my days listening to stories of children and their families, many of whom live in similar neighborhoods struggling with poverty. I love this work. But by the end of the week, being in a loud crowded place with bored, screaming children and stressed, impatient parents feels exhausting. Many times, this "intention" ends up feeling like me putting pressure on myself to "be in community", and then feeling frustrated with myself for not living up to that vague, idealistic image I have of what "being in community" is supposed to look like.
One weekend I was again at the laundromat wrestling with what I felt I "should" be doing and what my reality is. I began having a very frank conversation with God internally. "Look, I just don't have the energy to do this right now, or to keep thinking about how I should be 'building relationships' and 'connecting to people'. I'm just going to sit here and hide behind this book. This is what you get today, so you're going to have to deal with it right now." I had an image then, all within milliseconds, of Jesus beside me, in old jeans and a t-shirt, slouching down on the next seat. (I know, it sounds cliche, but that's what it was.) "Ok", he said, "That's fine. Let's just be here."
3. The laundromat is staffed by three women. I normally go around the same time in the evenings or weekends, so usually the same woman is working when I'm there. I haven't had much conversation with her, but I've been there enough now that she recognizes me. I've often been irritated with her shuffling about, grumbling and shouting at whomever is near, both of which are equally unintelligible. One evening I was one of the last ones there and I noticed she was becoming particularly agitated about closing the doors. Amidst her grumbling, she started to tell me about being threatened with a knife during a robbery. I could hear the fear in her voice, and understood that her complaining and irritation is not just about a long day at work. It's about living in fear every day in her own community, just to do the work she needs to do to get by.
The last time I was there she smiled and her eyes were less tired.
4. I like going in the mornings, when there aren't as many people there. With the machines spinning and the traffic whirring outside, it's almost meditative. Actually, the laundromat is where I do some of my most productive writing and worship planning. Maybe it's the fact that I have at least an hour to do nothing but sit and wait. Or maybe it's that I'm in the middle of the very things that draw me towards God- the ordinariness of doing laundry, the diversity of voices around me, the sense of participating in the rhythm and life of a neighborhood, the questions and ponderings that living and working in one community (particularly this community) brings forth. Somehow, out of the spinning, a prayer and a hope arises.
This is our assurance:
That despite our stumbling and wandering,
God loves us and always chooses to dwell with us.
God still uses us to bring God's kingdom to life.
Even with our confessions, and questions, and wrestling,
God is creating a community of shalom.
