Skip to main content

Rehearsing Poop

 My grandson. So cute I can hardly stand it. 

BUT

He likes to play with poop. Not any poop he finds. He's quite selective. It's just his own poop that holds such fascination. 
 
When all is quiet in the house for two blessed hours each afternoon, and my daughter is lulled into a sense of peace, this otherwise darling little man, emerges from his room. "Momma, I pooped." There is a trace of guilt in his voice that betrays the fact that he didn't just poop. He pooped and then painted his walls, his floor, his bed, his blankie, and himself with it.
 
Poop happens. It's part of life. The Dowager Lady Grantham said on a recent episode of Downton Abbey that life is a series of trials and hardships. You get through one and then another one and then another one and then...you die. Such an encouraging thought. Yet pretty accurate.

I'm pretty crazy about my grandson, but I'm thinking that I don't want to be like him - at least not in this. I don't want to  rehearse the poop of life. I don't want to paint my walls with pain or smear my troubles down the front of my shirt. I don't want to routinely recount stories in which I'd been wronged or hurt somehow or disappointed. I don't want to keep my poop ever before me.
 
No, I think I'd much rather rehearse God. It's something I've been practicing lately. Instead of jumping in with my wish list when I pray, I start off with a litany of things for which I am thankful - mainly attributes of God such as His faithfulness and kindness and mercy and long-suffering and grace upon grace upon grace and gentleness and the promise that He will never leave me or forsake me. Those are just for starters. I want nothing more than to live the rest of my life with God. In unbroken communion with Him. I want to rehearse Him.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.          
Philippians 4:8              
                                                                                                                                     

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Believing the Lies

My husband and I recently watched The Help - a story about a group of African American women who worked as maids in Jackson, Mississippi in the '60s. One of the protagonists works for a woman "who got no b'ness havin' babies." This woman, this family maid and nanny, tells her little two year old ward regularly, "You is pretty. You is smart. You is impor'ant." How difficult it is for us to believe that about ourselves - really, to believe anything good about ourselves. I always try to be my raw self when I write a blog post. Today is no exception. So I confess that I've been drowning in a storm of lies lately. My head knows they're lies, and I could easily tell anyone else in the same place that they're lies, but I haven't been able to get a grip. There have been so many of them coming at me at once. It seems that I just break the surface, gulp some fresh air of truth then get pulled back under. One thing I know: the enemy of our ...

Tricia's Return (my first ICL assignment for 13-17 year olds)

I stormed down the hall and slammed the door. I’d had enough! Dumping my books out of my backpack, I began shoving in clothes – anything I could grab. I dug through the junk on the floor of my closet and found my stash – my life’s savings. I shoved it on top of my clothes. In the midst of this frenzy, I heard a soft knock on my door. "Tricia?" It was my mom. “What now?” I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice. She was just going to launch into another tirade. Her list of my shortcomings was endless, and I didn’t want to hear them anymore. I didn’t open the door; I climbed out my window, backpack in tow, grabbed my bike and took off for the bus station. Jeremy didn’t know I was coming. He’d be so surprised. I couldn’t wait to see him! We’ve been together for a year; but since his family moved to St. Louis four months ago, we haven’t seen each other. We haven’t even been able to talk much He'd made the varsity soccer team; and with all the games and practices, he hadn’t h...

Resting...Resting?

A few weeks ago, my husband and I had dinner with our daughter-in-law and two of our grand children. My daughter-in-law lost her job a couple of months ago. I wanted an update on current job prospects or plans, so I asked, "What are you doing these days?" Her answer was simple and yet incredibly profound.              Resting. (Is that even a word in the American lexicon?) I'm proud of her, and of them, for making the decision that it's time for her to rest. She's been in hyper-drive for all the years I've known her (over 16).  That word has haunted me since she spoke it. Resting. What would happen if I...if you...gave it a try?  In Psalm 23: 6a, David says Surely goodness and mercy will follow me. In K.J. Ramsey's The Lord is My   Courage (page 240), she tells us that our English word, "follow," doesn't convey the power behind the original Hebrew word that David used (radaph). She tells us that radaph means "to pursue, chase, and pers...