Complaining Is a Spiritual Problem
Ann Swindell
I really don’t like cleaning the dishes. I’d rather fold laundry, change a diaper, vacuum—anything. I will gladly do a lot of things before I have to do the dishes. And we even have a dishwasher.
And although I cringe to admit it, I have complained about “having” to clean the dishes to my husband, my sister, my friends—just about anyone who will listen. Typing that out makes me sound like a whiny 3-year-old. Which, if I’m being honest, is true. Sometimes I act like a spiritual 3-year-old. I complain about dishes, I complain about traffic, I complain about the weather. You name it, I’ve probably complained about it in some form or fashion.
Complaining, griping, whining, grousing—whatever you want to call it, it’s a spiritual problem.
The problem is not, actually, the dirty dishes. And the problem is not the backup on I-355 or the snow that wouldn’t budge for six months.