I really like ironing.
Well, let me clarify that, in case you think I’m offering my services to your laundry basket.
I really like the effect of ironing. Of taking a fresh-air smelling item of crumpled clothing and laying it flat on the ironing board; of pulling and tugging it into shape; and then working my iron across its surface, steam puffing like a labouring train; of transforming the creases and crumples into wrinkle-free perfection.
Wrinkle free. That’s what I really love.
At the beginning of every new year, it’s the fresh start that excites me. Ahead lies an untouched pathway, a vista of unmarked snow or undisturbed beach. Gone are the messy scribbles of the last twelve months; a clean page awaits the tip of a brand new pen. This year, I’ll write with care, with no splodges or mistakes, no incomprehensible handwriting or side-tracked doodles.
The year will be wrinkle-free.
I wake up most days with similar excitement. The year ahead is the big, almost unreachable, picture. But today? That’s right in front of me, ready to be grasped and grappled with. Today, I will work through the list I have in my mind, getting from dawn to dusk in a straight, unwavering line. I will go to sleep as unruffled and calm as I wake up, satisfied at all that I accomplished.
I will have a wrinkle-free day.
Only I don’t. By mid-morning, the schedule is off-track, and the plans interrupted. By lunchtime I’m fighting, and by dinner I’m disappointed. In the evening, I have a last spurt of effort to salvage the wreckage of a day disturbed. I go to bed feeling crumpled.
But never mind, tomorrow lies ahead and that will be better. Right?
Maybe not.
A wrinkle-free day is rare. A year? Probably impossible.
Jesus puts it another way.
“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33
As a lover of words and fancy descriptions, I prefer how the Amplified Bible puts it:
“I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have perfect peace. In the world you have tribulation and distress and suffering, but be courageous [be confident, be undaunted, be filled with joy]; I have overcome the world. My conquest is accomplished, My victory abiding.”
Tribulation, distress and suffering. That’s a lot of wrinkles!
We live in a crumpled world of disrupted plans and broken promises. Crisis after crisis crashes over us, as inexorable as the waves of the sea. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a global pandemic, a local flood or a niggling doubt — we’re knocked sideways, flat on our faces in the sand.
King Cnut couldn’t stop the tide coming in; Jesus assures us we can’t stop the tide of this world’s troubles.
There’s no such thing as a wrinkle-free life.
I read something the other day, the focus of which was, ‘But God’. Two three-letter words which change the whole manuscript, the whole story of our lives. Of our year. Of our day.
The waves will come. The suffering and the stress and the unplanned detours and the unfinished business will continue to suck at our feet. Or crash over our heads.
But Jesus.
“My conquest is accomplished. My victory is abiding.”
Jesus rides out on the white horse of salvation, rescuing and restoring, and having the final word.
Read John’s vision of this conquering hero.
“Then I saw heaven opened, and behold, a white horse! The one sitting on it is called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he judges and makes war. His eyes are like a flame of fire, and on his head are many diadems, and he has a name written that no one knows but himself. He is clothed in a robe dipped in blood, and the name by which he is called is The Word of God. And the armies of heaven, arrayed in fine linen, white and pure, were following him on white horses. From his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron. He will tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God the Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords.”
Oh my goodness, that’s what I call ironing!
With this picture of Jesus uppermost in my waking mind, I can approach the day, not wishing in vain for straight lines and simple solutions, but with courage and confidence, undaunted and brimming with joy. I’m able to surrender the to-do list, the ideal of perfection, the fear of the detour.
I’ve changed my attitude. I step into today, into this year, on the lookout for wrinkles. I tune my ears to the sound of galloping, lifting my eyes to a white horse and its rider. I wait with anticipation, wondering how we’ll clamber over, surge through, pause in front of.
The wrinkles will come. With Jesus, I’m ready.
Are you?