One time, when they first came out, I bought one of those shower cleaner thingies like this. It made grand promises like “you’ve got a cleaning partner that takes care of the tough stuff for you.” I wanted a cleaning partner. And I wanted him to do the tough stuff (I mean, I like playing the tough woman role and all, but when it comes to moldy 1” tiles, I gladly surrender), so I wholeheartedly welcomed Mr. Scrubbing Bubbles into my shower (with my husband’s permission, of course). I was sure Mr. Bubbles would save me hours and hours of drudgery. The first time I used the wonder machine, I was so excited that I pushed the little purple button, raced out of the shower, and pressed my face against the outside of the glass door—waiting for my partner to perform a cleaning miracle.
Guess what? Mr. Bubbles did not live up to his claims. When he was supposedly “taking care of the tough stuff”, what he was actually doing was spitting out enough spritzer to cover approximately 1/8 of my ginormous shower. He was not a very good partner. I could barely tell the difference between the 1/8 of the shower he tackled and the 7/8’s that he ignored. I gave Mr. Bubbles a few more chances to prove himself over the coming weeks because the package said that he would be my partner for 30 days, but after his month of dismal failure, I threw him in the trash in anger. I decided to terminate our relationship (with my husband’s permission, of course). My expectations for leisurely mornings in a sparkling shower had been dashed to pieces like a million 1” ceramic tiles.
And it was all Mr. Bubbles’ fault. Or was it?
Actually, I have to take the blame. I believed that Mr. Bubbles was who he said he was. He wasn’t.
I believed that he could solve all my cleaning woes. He couldn’t.
I expected Mr. Bubbles to make my difficult tasks more pleasant. He didn’t.
In a nutshell, I was duped. I believed that if I got Mr. Bubbles, my life would be easy and carefree. He would work. I would rest and sit in my polka-dotted chair reading Jane Austen. I expected Mr. B to make my life better, but he really didn’t help me at all.
(This is where I use this ridiculous lesson learned to segue into more eternal matters…things more important than clean showers and bogus Bubble partners—humor me and keep on reading…)
That’s what happens when we look for hope and fulfillment in any thing other than Jesus—we become disappointed and disillusioned and disgusted. We believe the world when it says, “Look at this! It will make you happy and healthy and wise.” But this fails to deliver. every time. Oh, it might look like it’s working--just like Mr. Bubbles looked like he was working when he spun and spit in my shower—but after the newness wears off and your desperation stays on, you will be looking for something—or Someone—more faithful.
So, as you contemplate this Holy Week and the One who made it Holy, delight yourself in the Lord—not the world--and He will give you the desires of your heart (Psalm 37:4)—Mr. Bubbles can’t do that.
But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.