A Season of Lint: Repair Without Performance
March 18, 2026
After spending the last couple of weeks writing about my adventure behind my dryer (do I live an exciting life or what?), I’ve been thinking about cleaning, especially since the season is officially turning to spring.
When I know someone is coming over, I clean differently. Who cares about lint and a stuffed dryer vent?! Company means it’s time keep up appearances. Vacuum up the couch crumbs and plump the pillows. Shine the stove top and scrub last night’s toothpaste out of the bathroom sink. Use a spritz of Pine-Sol as air fresher to convey “hey, this house is clean!” to all who enter.
But when no one is coming? That’s the time for all the quiet maintenance no one sees or notices. Cleaning the lint vent and vacuuming behind the dryer. Wiping the spilled coffee grounds from the pantry shelf. Sorting and tossing what’s broken or no longer belongs.
There’s a difference between cleaning for appearance and cleaning for health. Sometimes I wonder how often we treat emotional cleaning the same way.
After Missing the Mark
A while ago I mentioned ἁμαρτία (hamartia) — “missing the mark” — aiming for love or kindness or generosity but landing short.
The ways we fall short may be obvious to us as we feel the sharpness of our words. Other times we’re blissfully oblivious to the pain we’ve caused others. Whether we recognize those moments of not, those missed marks cause small shifts in the space around us. The air itself changes and warmth bleeds away, leaving a chill in its place.
Lent has us focus on where we miss the mark, but there’s also a sneaky temptation to turn repair into performance. The confession reminds us why we feel justified in acting as we did. Visible superficial changes in our behavior make us feel better about ourselves, just like the Pharisee in the temple who made a show of his prayer.
It’s like when we make a big production of wiping the counters because company is coming.
Real Repair
Real repair is often quiet and costly. Repairing relationships requires us to quietly lower the bow and admit we missed what we strove for. It costs the self-righteous image we have of ourselves.
Because that kind of honesty feels vulnerable, it’s easier to remain silent.
But week by week, as we draw ever closer to Holy Week, the path Jesus walks — a path we, too, are called to walk this Lenten season — turns steep and narrow.
It’s a path that leaves no room for posturing or protecting the carefully constructed images we have of ourselves.
A Question and an Invitation
A Question: Where in your life have you missed the mark with someone — not catastrophically, but quietly?
An Invitation: What would it look like to practice repair without performance this week? To clean out the emotion drawers and just make room? To maybe even make room for forgiving ourselves?
Because despite our best efforts we do — all of us — miss the mark. Because if you’re like me, some days feel like nothing but missing the mark! Which means we need to aim again.
Let’s try to make peace with the idea that repair isn’t a one-time thing — but ongoing work. It’s the willingness to wake each morning and reach for the cross we carry, to be willing to try again, and again.
Without turning the process into a stage performance.
With you in the clearing,
Next week: Some things can’t be forced. Sometimes the wisest thing to do is handle life more gently.