Fighting the Kitchen Drain
A Practice for Unclogging Ourselves
By Jill
Photography by Pearl Roycroft
Oh gross. I don’t have time to deal with this!
The sink is full of murky water, grease smeared around the waterline. A blocked drain, BOO!! There’d been hints the past few days of this impending crisis. The water had been slower and slower to drain, and I’d secretly hoped that one of my flatmates would have done something about it. Obviously, we’d all hoped the same thing.
It’s ok, I think to myself, I can handle it.
I live in the Middle East, in a big industrial city whose hillsides sprawl to the horizon with grimy limestone and concrete apartment blocks. I work with a team doing community health. It’s fair to say that construction endeavours here are not subject to the same quality control as Australia. So, I pop down to my local hardware shop, knowing there’ll be an Arab man who knows exactly what I need. I use a combination of words and charades to communicate, since I don’t use the vocab of drains and plumbing all that often. I come out feeling confident, armed with the powerful drain cleaner everyone uses. I bought two bottles… Just to be sure.
I pour the first bottle of too-shiny white crystals into the swirling morass in the sink. There is a satisfying display of white fizz and the water swirls. But the show finishes and nothing has shifted. Ok no worries, plan B involves finding our household plunger. A lot of plunging action later and I feel a sense of satisfaction as the morass disappears down the drain. I think to myself, I’ll just pour down that second bottle of drain cleaner, to make sure it’s all sorted. I pour and as I sit waiting, open the cupboard door under the sink to discover the drainpipes under the sink are sizzling hot. I touch one and it melts in my hand. As it falls away from the underside of the sink, boiling hot, gross sludgy water pours out over my hand and over the floor. I feel the chemicals burning my skin and it starts itching immediately.
‘Ouch!!!!’ I yelp, ‘Give me that towel!!!’
Great. Now we really have a problem. Why do I always overdo things? We call our local handyman/plumber/electrician/painter, who says he’ll be around within the hour. He doesn’t seem fazed. I can’t imagine what he’s seen in his line of work here.
He calmly looks at my mess. “These were bad quality pipes to start with, that is the problem, they couldn’t drain properly. I’ll take them out and put in new, better ones.”
Yay!! What a hero! There’s some tinkering under the sink, then he shouts for my attention. ‘Look at this!’ he exclaims, and points out a corroded foreign object he discovered wedged down at the far end of the drain pipe. TWO SPOONS. How the heck did they escape the sink and get down there?! They had developed a shade of corroded green and were jammed up inside the drain. It was super gross. I feel like my faux pas with the drain cleaner was a blessing in disguise. We’ve uncovered some issues that were obviously beyond my two little bottles of drain cleaner. I take the win.
Last month a friend recommended an online course, something about connecting with other women working cross culturally. In the introductory session we watched a video of beautiful people saying things like,
“This group will take us on the journey of learning to live wholeheartedly so that the love of Jesus will begin to flow more freely through us to others.”
My face in my little corner of the zoom screen gives me away. I had flinched unconsciously. Since living overseas, I have come to realise that I have a powerful detector for anything with a whiff of insincerity. I think it’s an Australian thing. Sounds a bit cheesy, a bit American, I thought to myself. The facilitator asked for comments. Predictable opening awkward silence. And then, I was speaking. Trying to explain to an American what I meant by things being “too American”. Very awkward. “Oh, tell me more Jill.” She was so gracious.
Yeah, there was cultural semantics and language differences going on. But really my deeper irritation was the clanging reality of my heart. I felt estranged from the language and world of those beautiful people from the video. I often feel like a clogged up drain out of which overflows various types of sludge versus a flowing channel of the love of Jesus.
I feel sludgy as I interact with the steady stream of text messages. Mohamad broke his arm. Can you pay the hospital bill? Our roof is leaking and remember Halima was in ICU last winter with pneumonia (her husband sold the corrugated iron our colleague bought for their roof). We only have plastic to burn in our stove. I’m worried what my husband will do once I tell him I’m pregnant again. We have no food and the kids are crying. Khadejah is a Syrian woman with ten children who’s always messaging me in a crisis.
On a good day I’m kind of impressed and smile to myself. ‘Wow Khadejah, you are so resilient. You could have been Jesus’ inspiration for the story of the persistent widow.’ But usually when I see her messages my breathing becomes shallow and my thoughts spin faster and faster. ‘Leave me alone. I’m tired of repeated brokenness. I’m tired of requests to bear responsibilities, to fix what is broken and hurts.’
I feel sludgy as I sit down to spend time with Jesus, but the waves surge in my soul. I feel restless and fidget in my chair. ‘What did she say to me? … I’m so annoyed he did that and now I have more things to fix … I’ve got to remember to reply to that email … Why do I always feel anxious here? … How can I ask people at home to pray for me every month when I’m such a terrible pray-er myself? … Why am I so irritable about needing to go restock the eggs again? … I know I got through yesterday but will I get through today?’
Gosh, how can I receive from Jesus when my hands are so full? My heart and mind so clogged up? I was talking to the same friend who had recommended the online group. I was sharing my struggle with the shiny Christians in the video and my sludgy feelings. She suggested,
“How about you create some kind of ritual to get stuff out. Maybe when you sit down for a quiet time. Light a candle. Remember Jesus is there with you. Then write down a list of what’s on your mind.”
“That will take way too long! I’ll never get to the Bible bit.”
My wise friend replied, “Well, just try it. Then when you think you’re finished, sit quietly and ask Jesus if there’s more.”
My eyes widen a little. I’ll actually never get onto the Bible.
Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing the past few weeks. Lighting a vanilla scented tealight in a glass jar. Writing down what’s clogging up my soul. The obvious stuff. Then the stuff hovering on the periphery of my thoughts. I’ve discovered if I don’t get them out, they’ll hijack me later. Then the deeper stuff that reeks of anxiety or resentment or even despair.
‘Ok,’ my friend keeps coaching me, ‘Then take your list and put it under the candle, give it to Jesus.’
I fold up the list, I put it under the candle, and I remind myself, I’m intentionally handing it all over, into the care of Jesus. What an active phrase that is! Into the care of Jesus! Not into Jesus’ overflowing pile of issues-to-deal-with, because Jesus does not get overwhelmed. Not only does Jesus not get overwhelmed, he is eagerly waiting for me. I’m trying to massage this truth into my soul. He is so happy when I come to him. Even when my heart is gross and sludgy and I’m clutching a long list of things. I don’t need to hide in shame like Eve.
Sometimes it feels so good. Sometimes I’m still distracted. On my distracted days the final step really helps. With a spirit of Christmas morning type curiosity, I pull out yesterday’s list. I am reminded of what was bothering me yesterday. Gosh. So far, there’s always been something that’s caught my attention. Some surprising work of Jesus over the past 24 hours. Gosh. Things like; a short but healing conversation, an unimagined opportunity, a shift in attitude, a need met or a need that has lost its urgency and drain on me. Now my heart is a little warmer in faith and my hands are empty to receive. To receive from Jesus his peace and his wisdom, his joy and his strength, his grace and his perspective, his promptings and his creativity. Now there’s a chance he can overflow from me to others.
Unfortunately, a week later there’s a strong smell of mould coming from under the sink and a steady drip, drip, drip. A new leak. I sigh and roll my eyes. It seems we need the plumber on retainer. Which, now that I think about it, is exactly the same story when it comes to my soul. I need you dear Jesus, on full-time retainer. Amen.
Jill - Regular Contributor
Jill grew up in Albany, studied in Perth & Sydney but now lives with some friends and a baby tortoise (Turbo) in the Middle East. She helps lead a team doing community health programs and works as a GP with Syrian refugees. Learning Arabic was the hardest thing she’s undertaken. In her work she’s passionate about seeing the unseen people and helping Arab teenage boys learn emotional literacy and their God given identity. She enjoys textures, colours, photography and laughing at ridiculous ideas.