Like many others who braved last week’s stormy onslaught, our home is still in disarray. I expect it to remain this way for at least a month, so I’m coming to grips with it and trying to keep the uncluttered areas clean (it helps me mentally).
Yesterday, the professional water extractors could finally stop for an inspection. Using a nifty water detector meter, the serviceman checked our baseboards and walls throughout the basement. Amazingly enough, the meter did not detect water even once! He thinks our quick action in tearing out the soaked carpeting and pad, as well as our ongoing use of fans and dehumidifiers, did the trick. Whew!
The serviceman suggested an anti-microbal spray to kill off any mold growing in the carpet glue that remained on the cement floor. My husband is allergic to mold (and I’m grossed out by the thought of it growing under new carpeting) so we agreed to the treatment.
The spray had a funky odor—I asked the guy if that was the smell of “clean.” He seemed only slightly amused.
I realize the carpet removal and home upheaval was necessary to prevent mold from growing in our much-used basement. (As sad as the waste of it is.) Mold grows in dark, dank places, and it causes sickness as it lurks unseen.
There is a mold of the heart just like that. It grows in dark, dank places, often unseen and undetected, and causes sickness of soul. It’s the mold of bitterness and hurt and jealousies and the like. It hides in the recesses of the heart, but is flushed out when the heart gets overwhelmed. (Such as when your basement is flooding.)
I may not be able to see the moldy places in me, but I know they are there. I’ve held on to some dark, dank things that I think I need—a virtual feeding ground for emotional and spiritual mold.
It’s time to flip on the purifying Light of the Word and crack open the anti-microbal spray of God’s forgiveness and cleansing. I want my heart to be a no-mold zone.