Since the title of my blog involves a little humor, I thought I might like to involve a little humor into my posts. This is one of my favorite stories from one of my favorite books, "Humor For A Friend's Heart". I chose this story because of the house cleaning we're doing right now. Here we go:
Move Out!
by Rhonda Rhea
"Move out" takes on a truly military tone when seven years' worth of junk has to be stuffed into seven thousand cardboard boxes. Factor in my five pack-rat kids and you understand these were no ordinary moving maneuvers. I wondered how on earth I could relocate without a backhoe. This was a major battle.
You should've seen me on packing day. I paced back and forth in front of the ladies who had come to help. I was the comander, readying the troops. My feather duster was tucked under my arm like a riding crop as I began my moving address, "I'd like to thank you for signing on for this mission. Some of you might find yourselves waning in the heat of the battle. Others may discover new courage. And some of you...(sniff)...might not be coming home."
Okay, that we for drama. They all made it home. Not without battle scars, however. It was frightening; I didn't have mere dust bunnies on top of my china cabinet. These things lookes more like fuzzy buffaloes.
Thankfully, I had provided the women with some basic training. I decided I could desensitize them before they got to the house by taking for a ride in my minivan. On the way to my buffalo-filled home, one asked, "Is this a pickle in the cup holder?"
"My kids don't eat pickles. I think that's a hotdog from last baseball season." She had to go right home after she regained consciousness. The rest of the ladies were fine after they put their heads between their knees. Still, I couldn't bring myself to make them look in the glove compartment. I think the Geneva Convention has rules against such atrocities.
Several were overcome during the chemical warfare phase of the moving battle. It's a common result of mixing the chemicals needed to fight dust buffaloes with the ones needed for the scum that gathers over the stove. They're recovering. The therapy for post-packing trauma syndrome (PPTS) is also helping. Thankfully, the flash-backs are starting to subside.
There was a particularly perilous moment in the kitchen, however, when one of the ladies made a gruesome discovery. It was a potato that had fallen behind a pile of junk in one of the cabinets. But it was no longer legally a potato. It looked like a brown, raisiny grenade. We were all distressed when we discovered the local bomb squad doesn't respond to potatoes.
I was amazed no one in my family had ever gotten a whiff of the rotting potato/grenade. We never had even a hint it was back there shriveling. Believe it or not, there wasn't even any mold on the little sucker. I guess it's still not surprising not one of the packing ladies wanted to touch the thing. But before we could move, the dead spud had to go.
In the same way, isn't it amazing the spritual dirt we can have hidden away? Little things that can be rotting -- shriveling right under our noses -- and we don't so much as catch a whiff. It's a spiritual battle and the enemy is ever ready to lob his bombs. He loves to see us rendered fruitless. Sometimes he schemes a sneak attack. It's not the kind of attack that immediatly blows up in our faces, but rather an undercover mission where the enemy secures hidden places of rottenness that quietly shrivel our spirits.
Romans 6:13 says, "Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life." We can ignore those pockets of disobedience we've tucked away, or we can offer every part of ourselves to God. Before we can move to a closer walk with Him, we shouldn't be surprised if He pulls out that "sin potato" and says, "We really have to take care of this before we can move on."
I've now moved into a clean, new home -- completely free of shriveled potatoes. When we allow the Father to cleanse us from sneaky rottenness, we can enjoy the same kind of clean, seet closeness with Him.
So go ahead. Plan a spiritual military action of your own. Execute Recon Plan "Tossoutthepotato!" Ready? Move out!
I hope you enjoyed it! To the greater glory of God - sourpatch
