I never noticed it before. The book I am reading, Prayer in the Night, points out that of the many pictures of Adam and Eve in the garden, none portrays them working. It follows our unspoken assumption that an idyllic life is one without labor. Yet that assumption looses traction when I listen to breathing people. A friend who was bed ridden after surgery was positively itching to get moving. A woman expressed eagerness to get her hands dirty in the garden. When I visited an elderly lady she bemoaned that no one lets her help around the house. 

 

Several times I have visited people in the hospital, and come home raring to wash my own dishes because I could. 

 

I have noticed the same glaring absence in movies. Houses are always tidy, floors are swept clean, but we never see anyone make it happen. It seems like an unrealistic slice of what it means to have a family. There are of course baking shows, where contestants madly stir batter and stack up sticky bowls. But when it is time for the winners to be announced, the counters are again pristine. Granted, people are not inclined toward episodes about scrubbing pans, but the absence does send the message that those parts of life are a nuisance. 

 

Maybe they aren't. 

 

When my first kids were little I had a photo album, exclusively of pictures taken when they were working.  There are rows of shoes lined up with the proud child nearby, and preschoolers wiping the table clear. There is one of my son with a salad he put together, and of my daughter folding laundry. I wanted to give the message that jobs are valuable, and even fun. 

 

It is my dearest wish that when I arrive in my own heavenly paradise there will be lots to do. But I hope the flowers I am fussing with will be on fabric.