So yesterday, I had a “divine in the domestic” moment.

Needing to dress up a bit more than usual, I opened the closet. Finding the shirt I wanted in need of a de-wrinkling, I went for the ironing board. Realizing that a bunch of my shirts were in the same shape, I grabbed a handful. Turning on the iron, I sighed at my memory of what a poor iron-er I am. Tasting some success, I pressed on with encouragement. Noting that last sentence’s terrible pun, I end this string of sentences.

A simple thought hit me as I ironed. It was a simple thought because those are the thoughts of simple men doing simple things.

Heat and pressure…

That’s the iron’s approach to making a shirt look sharp. And I’m amazed at how well it works. But there are those other times. You know the ones–when the shirt doesn’t respond well, when it doesn’t lay flat, when it tries to dodge, when it doesn’t listen. Ironing IN a wrinkle… can that be claimed as a gift because I can do it without even thinking!

And at that point, there’s just one solution… more heat and more pressure.

Somewhere in the puff of the steam and the gulp of the iron as I set it to rest, that image meant a lot. In fact, it meant enough to make me wonder if God had wrinkled a few of my shirts Himself just to get me to the board.

Heat and pressure… those serve a purpose. They’re presented to iron out wrinkles and smooth out crookedness and bring proper alignment.

Can I be conscious of that in my “heat and pressure” moments? Or do I just squirm, wish wishing for “relief”?

And if I do find a way to dodge it, can I accept that the coming solution will be… yeah… more heat and pressure?