When Cleaning Leads to Healing
There comes a moment in every parent’s journey with a prodigal where the question surfaces quietly, painfully:
“What did I do wrong?”
It’s a question I’ve asked myself more than once.
Now, let me be clear—our children have free will. We are not the Holy Spirit, and we do not carry the weight of their every decision. But that doesn’t mean we’re exempt from self-reflection.
There’s a difference between living in shame and inviting the Lord to gently search us.
“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” — Psalm 139:23–24 (ESV)
Sometimes we need to ask:
Am I part of the reason?
Is there something I’ve done that caused harm—intentionally or not?
Are there habits I continue that others have pointed out as hurtful, offensive, or neglectful?
Have I justified patterns that the Lord is asking me to surrender?
Or… is there something hidden, something deep in the corners of my heart, that the Lord wants to bring into the light—not to shame me, but to heal me?
This is what I call cleaning the porch.
Not just sweeping off leaves or shaking out a rug.
I’m talking spring cleaning.
The kind of cleaning where you take down the curtains, haul the blinds into the sunlight, get on your knees to scrub baseboards, and climb a ladder to reach the dusty top shelf.
The kind of cleaning that isn’t dependent on guests arriving.
We clean the porch even if no one visits.
We clean it because it needs cleaning.
We clean it because it’s ours.
And because it’s where God meets us.
“Let us cleanse ourselves from every defilement of body and spirit, bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God.” — 2 Corinthians 7:1 (ESV)
Sometimes, in that cleaning, we find things we forgot.
We find things never used.
We find something we’ve been missing.
And yes—cleaning can be exhausting.
But after the scrubbing, the surrendering, the honest prayers and the piles of emotional clutter laid at Jesus’ feet—something beautiful happens.
Peace.
The kind of peace that settles deep in your bones.
The kind of peace that doesn’t depend on outcomes.
The kind of peace that only comes through the work.
“He disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness…” — Hebrews 12:10–11 (ESV)
So today, if the Lord is inviting you to clean your porch—your heart—don’t resist.
Ask Him:
Lord, show me what needs to go.
Open my eyes to what I’ve ignored.
Bring to light what needs your healing touch.
Let Him help you throw out what was never meant to stay and make room for what was always meant to dwell.
Because healing begins here.
And it begins on your porch.
