I know three women who clean houses for a living. Every time I’m cleaning, I get a mental picture of these three and stand amazed at the energy they have for their work. I struggle to clean a single house well; they clean one after another.

But cleaning in manageable doses can be very satisfying. It isn’t the scrubbing, kneeling, reaching or lifting that gratifies but the end result. After putting a messy room in order, each time I walk through, I get a little kick.

Today I tackled our disheveled cottage. Before my grandbabies came, I went through and babyproofed the house, although once they arrived, we steadily took it to higher levels (literally). Today, however, I reversed the process, bringing everything back down to its former place.

Scrubbing food off the upholstery, raisins off the carpet and toddler hand prints off the windows brought five darling faces to my mind, followed by a flood of gratitude for these precious little ones. But as my sister says, “When the grandkids come, the house takes a heavy hit.” The beauty of it, though, is that with a little soap and water, Windex and Pledge, order is restored.

Today as the wash machine worked its magic on sheets and towels, I thought about the process of internal house cleaning. My childhood Sunday school teacher often referred to the “heart” as a group of rooms, each with a door that could be locked. She urged us to unlock and open each one when Jesus came in, inviting him to inspect every room.

The teacher’s grand-finale question was, “Are there any rooms in your heart you wouldn’t want Jesus to see?” Occasionally I still ponder that. Are all my heart-rooms cleaned up and open to Jesus’ inspection, even in their shadowy corners?

Such a question is, of course, ludicrous. He can look at anything he wants to and is capable of seeing past locked doors and into dark corners. But Jesus himself used the heart’s-door analogy in his own teaching, illustrating difficult principles with this simple, everyday picture. One thing he never did, though, was demand we open up for him. Instead it was always a gentle inquiry. Whether or not we let him in is left up to us.

I long to throw open all the figurative doors of my life in response to Christ’s presence, but often there are issues to deal with first. Just as with my cleaning house today, I might say, “I can’t have company until the house is ready.”

But the beauty of letting Jesus come in even before every nook and cranny is in order is that once he gets access, he’ll enthusiastically help with the rest of our cleaning. We can fling wide every door without hesitation or nervousness, and we can do it now.

Even if we’ve run out of Windex or Pledge, it won’t matter to him.

“Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.” (Revelation 3:20)

Nate was a true-blue fan of Elvis Presley. Although he wasn’t musically knowledgeable, he never met an Elvis tune he didn’t love. He owned cassettes and CDs by several other recording artists, but ten-to-one they were of Elvis.

Nate loved to talk about this favorite songster, laughing at his extravagant ways and forever attracted to his down-home, country-boy charm. He watched every Presley documentary, and our home library grew top-heavy with Elvis titles.

But Nate was tone deaf, unable to carry a tune and embarrassed by his own singing. He often wondered if he was fully appreciating his Elvis music and one day said, “Does Mr. Presley have a good singing voice?”

I acknowledged he did, but to a true fan, such a simplistic answer was lackluster, and Nate wanted more. So I said, “I’ve heard he could sing in four octaves without straining his voice.”

“Is that good?” he said.

“Real good,” I said, which seemed to make him happy.

Over the years Nate amassed an elaborate collection of Elvis memorabilia, all gifted by others who knew he was a fan: posters, mugs, key chains, license plates, photos, t-shirts, postcards figurines and a copy of his driver’s license. The stand-out gift was an Elvis telephone. When a call came in, he sang “Jailhouse Rock” while gyrating his hips.

I was never the Elvis fan Nate was but could tolerate certain recordings, unlike some family members who had zero tolerance, like his mother-in-law. Nate got along with Mom exceptionally well, unless the subject of Elvis came up.

“What do you see in that guy anyway?” she’d say.

“Greatest recording artist of all time,” he’d say, then add, “and a Christian, too.”

Mom had her doubts.

All of us have life-heroes, people we admire and even idolize, but hero worship is always risky. It’s a set-up for certain disappointment. Although Elvis may not have enjoyed living on such a lofty pedestal, his fans kept him there anyway.

Nate and Mom had fan clubs, too, people who admired them and as a result, put them on pedestals or even idolized them. Many were watching their lives, following their examples. The truth is, like it or not, all of us are being watched by somebody.

It might even be true that we all have life-moments on pedestals, but when that happens, God usually doesn’t wait too long to nudge us off, knowing it’s neither a happy nor healthy place to be. In his view, there’s only one pedestal-worthy person, and that’s Jesus. He stands alone as fully qualified to be an unflawed hero. And that’s the reason we ought to be watching him carefully, admiring his ways, modeling our behavior after his.

The difficulty is with his invisibility. Elvis was easy to see; his face and voice were everywhere. Our task in watching Jesus takes more want-to, more discipline, but there is no greater goal than following his example.

And as we’re working at that, it’s reassuring to know we’ll never be disappointed by his falling off his pedestal. That’s even better than owning a whole wall of gold records.

As to Elvis’ Christianity? Both Mom and Nate know the truth now.

“We [endure] by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion.” (Hebrews 12:2)