If it's true that Chicago is the “city with big shoulders,” those shoulders get quite a work out.  Walking 1.5 miles each way to work, I'm continually amazed at the construction projects I encounter. 

There is no end to the pounding, grinding, bashing, welding, clanking—building.  On Wacker Drive, I see a major project underway that has most of the heavy equipment staged on the Chicago River.   

Worth noting: a huge red crane (the boom must be 50 feet tall or more) whose treads rest on massive timbers laid out on a barge.  Because I often take the same train, I witness the same early morning scenarios: workers grabbing their last few puffs on cigarettes before clocking in, heavy equipment dragged out of locked storage containers, and a symphony of swearing from red-scarfed heads. 

What has lately grabbed my attention is the daily ritual of the aforementioned crane's operator.   Day after day I find him climbing outside his cab with a jug of glass cleaner in one hand and a rag in the other.  Every morning, he faithfully spritzes the glass and wipes away the dust and grime that come with big noise and big toys. 

Apparently, it's “all that important” to him.  In a given day, he will hook, hoist, and haul hundreds of tons of materials—any of which could crush a site or kill a man, given the slightest imprecision on his part.  It's not that he “wants” to see clearly around him.  He must see.  So he cleans. Every morning.

And so must we. 

The windows of our souls are ever caked with dust and grime that come from a noisy life—sin. We little understand the loads we swing about us daily, the potential we face for immediate destruction.

How good to know that upon our confession, the Savior with big shoulders—Jesus—is ready and willing to forgive our sins and “cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

How is it with the windows of your soul?