“The Vacuum Will Be There Monday,” Ensign, Sept. 1992, 65–66
Saturday had been hectic. Our son was getting married within days, and several of our children, along with our grandchildren, had spent a long day helping us prepare for the exciting event. I woke up Sunday with a million things on my mind, and as I surveyed the remains of the fun and frolic the grandchildren had left behind, I added cleaning up the house to the list.
In our home we have fervently tried to keep the Sabbath day holy. We had decided that that included saving housekeeping tasks for other days of the week, so on this Sunday morning I limited myself to picking up a few toys and cleaning up the towels left over from Saturday’s spontaneous water fight.
I surveyed the living room. There in the corner stood the vacuum cleaner I had brought out just as the children arrived.
Oh well, I thought. I’m ready for church, and I have a few minutes. I’ll just vacuum this room.
As I began to unwind the cord, I heard a familiar sound coming from the radio—the sound of the Tabernacle Choir.
I rewound the cord and left the vacuum cleaner sitting in its place. It will all be there Monday, I thought. I wouldn’t drown out the choir’s quiet Sunday message with housekeeping noise. Instead I decided to enjoy the calming tone of the music—a quiet reminder to keep the Sabbath holy.