Strive for a Faith That Is as Strong as the Faith You Have in Your Washing Machine

As I dried off after my shower yesterday morning, I noticed that the towel I was using was one that I also have used to clean the floors on several occasions. I've used this particular towel to absorb excess mop water; I've used it to clean up "accidents" on the bathroom floors; and I've even used it to mop the floor of the garage surrounding the litter boxes. Ashlee has used the same towel to catch paint. (We use the towel in question for these purposes because it is very large, very absorbent, and very ugly—colored in bleached shades of yellow and green.)

So the same towel that I used to dry my freshly washed body has been soaked in mop water and urine and has come in contact with all sorts of other unsavory substances. I can only hope that the 25 minutes the towel spends in my washing machine after each use is sufficient to remove all the nasty. Of course, this towel never is in the wash alone; it is accompanied by assorted other towels, napkins, wash cloths, and cleaning rags. Some of these have been used to clean toilets, cat vomit, and dirty baby bottoms. (It's very possible that a rag I use to clean a toilet one week is used the following week to clean the kitchen counter.) Not only must I trust that the washing machine removes filth, but also I must trust that it doesn't allow the filth from one towel or rag to settle on another.

Drying off with the towel in question was an act of profound faith. I have faith that one cycle in my washing machine is sufficient to remove dirt, waste, and fluids that I would hesitate to touch, let alone rub against my clean body. I also have faith, rightly or wrongly, that my laundry detergent is more powerful than the combined forces of dirt, urine, cat vomit, baby poop, and days-old bits of food.