I have become a Dust Farmer. At least that is what my house would tell you.
The ceiling fan in our bedroom grows dust prolifically. It was only a few months ago that I was standing on the bed swiping dust off the fan blades. As I was snuggling down in my bed covers the other night, I looked up. Dust was crawling over the edges of those fan blades again.
My house has a cathedral ceiling so the kitchen cupboards don't go up to the ceiling. Dust collects along the top of those cupboards and it, too, creeps over the edges. Maybe it is trying to escape or maybe it is trying to spread.
I think it is the latter.
It could really be discouraging to look at all the dust that has accumulated. But I decided I wasn't going to let it get the best of me.
Given the ability I have to grow dust, I'm giving myself the title of Dust Farmer.
Isn't confession the first stage to healing?
My house is like a field that has been planted to grow dust. And my dusting spray is like Round Up. Weed killer. I'm going after the dust to wipe it out. The fan blades have been cleaned. Very carefully I've climbed up on a chair to wipe off the top of the cupboard doors. Every surface and every area is being plowed up and turned over.
And all of this is being done with a much better attitude once I realized I really am a Dust Farmer. My cleaning is done with more of a chuckle as I think of the new title I have. Instead of complaining and muttering, I'm humming in my new role.
How about you? Are you a Dust Farmer? I'm willing to share this title with anyone that wants to have a change of attitude about the realities of life. Dust is going to happen. Humming as you "plow up the dust" is much more fun that complaining about it.
A So Amazing Dust Farm. Come on over to my house anytime!