Dirt Under My Nails

We hopped in the car after working at home all afternoon. Time was short. Our house needed to be on the market by the end of the week in order to fulfill our dream of starving to death as farmers in North Carolina.

Tom changed both his shirt and pants after he spent the day caulking. I wore the same leggings that I’d scraped paint off of a of a screen as I sat on the dusty driveway. I figured my long, bright yellow shirt would hide the stained t-shirt and cover the dust on my pants.

We arrived and chose seats away from the congregation in case we smelled.

As our pastor, Steve, continued his series on Revelation, I glanced down. Caked dirt lay underneath broken nails. Distracted, I tried to clean them. I failed. My nails were too short and I didn’t have the right tools with me.

Better get used to it. A farmer’s wife probably has her share of dirty nails.

Steve went on. “While we’re on earth, we’re frustrated and discouraged by our own sin. Again and again we fail. But one day, we will be in the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ, and we will be perfect. No more struggles with sin.”

I looked at my nails and smiled.

One day, I’ll have a manicured heart.

No more proud thoughts. No more impatient words. No more selfish actions.


“Even so, Lord Jesus Come.”



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