There’s something about hanging out the laundry that makes it all right in my world once again.

Maybe it’s the wind in my hair.  Or the sheets flapping in the breeze.

Maybe it’s the sense of accomplishment, four baskets of clothes hung neatly on the line.  And the even greater satisfaction of a job well done when they are dried and folded, almost as neatly, right back into the same baskets.

Maybe it has something to do with the way my children are laughing and calling happily around me, the oldest hanging the socks up on her own miniature drying rack, “just like mommy.”

But more likely, it’s the way the wind reminds me of His strength. 

More often, it’s the way ever one of my three children has had to empty the entire basket of clothespins to find the perfect one to chew on. 

Sometimes, it’s the chubby hands I feel clapping in the carrier behind me when I burst forth into song.

It might even have something to do with the way my clothesline is held up by pieces of lumber that form the shape of a cross. 

There’s nothing that puts my day into perspective like getting outside to hang out the laundry.  And I know it’s because of the way the open expanse of sky above me makes all my troubles seem miniscule in comparison to our omnipotent Creator.