When Life Gives You Goose Poop
After today I will be trying to make a habit of going on one-hour personal retreats.
I hadn't planned it, but I was ready for it.
I dropped my son off at lacrosse practice and felt extremely sleepy, weary more from spiritual warfare than anything physical. I was alone. The sun was sedating me more with every stop light in town. The price of gas and the treat of being alone kept me from going back home to kill an hour and a half. So I drove to a park where I had never been, only driven by it and thought, "What a nice name for a park." The only people there were a mom and three kids, who left by the time I had unloaded my trusty beach quilt and water bottle.
The park was strangely empty.At first I wondered if I had missed a "closed" or "off-limits to desperately tired moms" sign or something. Upstanding citizen that I am, and neurotically fearful of being arrested for trespassing, I read all the signs and they all said the same thing: Do not feed the waterfowl. I was not tempted to. I have teenagers. Geese are like teenagers: always honking for more food. If I were to feed the geese some hard, dry fries off the floor of the minivan, I'm fairly certain they'd waddle their bright orange feet up in to the passenger seat and announce they wanted a Value Meal supersized.
The pond beckoned me near, the center fountain spraying high and steady, drowning out the din of passing traffic in the distance. I surveyed the ground for a level place to spread out my blanket, but the only level places were fairly littered with goose poop. So I chose a place closer to the water, on a hill. I lay down, convinced the sun would knock me out peacefully. It didn't. Ever tried to fall asleep before your feet do?
I got up and moved. Goose poop. How fresh? How old? Dried up? I decided that, since I couldn't smell it or see it if it were covered, I'd just toss my queen-sized quilt over it and forget about it. It was worth it for a nap in the sun-dappled grass. I would carefully wad up the blanket afterward in such a way the poop wouldn't touch our pristine (mmhh) trunk.
I chose a level spot, smoothed my quilt out, covered my purse with a sweatshirt and used it as a pillow. Then I began to doze off, thanking God for this hour of respite. I was fairly certain none of my teens at home would miss me enough for an hour to disturb me. The baby was asleep and wouldn't bother them. It's a beautiful thing, I thought. I kept my cell phone on, just in case, forgetting that it was set to the combo of Ring & Vibrate.
Almost into the REM phase of sleep, John Philip Sousa woke me up. Vibrating Sousa, I might add. My cell phone was in the purse under my head! My third child was on the line, wanting to know if he could go to his friend's. Yes. I didn't say it, but I thought it: interruptions are goose poop. Everywhere you turn, in your best effort to accomplish something, life gives you goose poop. In biblical terms, opportunities to be sanctified. Fresh poop, new trials. Dried up poop, indwelling sin. Lately I've been trying to avoid goose poop, but I've just ended up on a slippery slope where I can't relax. God won't let me bask in the warmth of His joy until I've given thanks for the goose poop. I have been trying to throw a queen-size quilt over all the goose poop in my life--by sleeping, eating, shopping, complaining, crying, watching TV, not opening my Bible. Just when I think I can close my eyes to my own sin, RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! God marches scripture through my head and heart, and I realize I've got to march to His proverbial drum or stay miserable.
I would like to say that I have surrendered, that this metaphor ends with a glorious sense of peace and rest for my soul, but you know what? Today I have not given thanks for the goose poop.
Which reminds me, I need to wash that quilt....
I hadn't planned it, but I was ready for it.
I dropped my son off at lacrosse practice and felt extremely sleepy, weary more from spiritual warfare than anything physical. I was alone. The sun was sedating me more with every stop light in town. The price of gas and the treat of being alone kept me from going back home to kill an hour and a half. So I drove to a park where I had never been, only driven by it and thought, "What a nice name for a park." The only people there were a mom and three kids, who left by the time I had unloaded my trusty beach quilt and water bottle.
The park was strangely empty.At first I wondered if I had missed a "closed" or "off-limits to desperately tired moms" sign or something. Upstanding citizen that I am, and neurotically fearful of being arrested for trespassing, I read all the signs and they all said the same thing: Do not feed the waterfowl. I was not tempted to. I have teenagers. Geese are like teenagers: always honking for more food. If I were to feed the geese some hard, dry fries off the floor of the minivan, I'm fairly certain they'd waddle their bright orange feet up in to the passenger seat and announce they wanted a Value Meal supersized.
The pond beckoned me near, the center fountain spraying high and steady, drowning out the din of passing traffic in the distance. I surveyed the ground for a level place to spread out my blanket, but the only level places were fairly littered with goose poop. So I chose a place closer to the water, on a hill. I lay down, convinced the sun would knock me out peacefully. It didn't. Ever tried to fall asleep before your feet do?
I got up and moved. Goose poop. How fresh? How old? Dried up? I decided that, since I couldn't smell it or see it if it were covered, I'd just toss my queen-sized quilt over it and forget about it. It was worth it for a nap in the sun-dappled grass. I would carefully wad up the blanket afterward in such a way the poop wouldn't touch our pristine (mmhh) trunk.
I chose a level spot, smoothed my quilt out, covered my purse with a sweatshirt and used it as a pillow. Then I began to doze off, thanking God for this hour of respite. I was fairly certain none of my teens at home would miss me enough for an hour to disturb me. The baby was asleep and wouldn't bother them. It's a beautiful thing, I thought. I kept my cell phone on, just in case, forgetting that it was set to the combo of Ring & Vibrate.
Almost into the REM phase of sleep, John Philip Sousa woke me up. Vibrating Sousa, I might add. My cell phone was in the purse under my head! My third child was on the line, wanting to know if he could go to his friend's. Yes. I didn't say it, but I thought it: interruptions are goose poop. Everywhere you turn, in your best effort to accomplish something, life gives you goose poop. In biblical terms, opportunities to be sanctified. Fresh poop, new trials. Dried up poop, indwelling sin. Lately I've been trying to avoid goose poop, but I've just ended up on a slippery slope where I can't relax. God won't let me bask in the warmth of His joy until I've given thanks for the goose poop. I have been trying to throw a queen-size quilt over all the goose poop in my life--by sleeping, eating, shopping, complaining, crying, watching TV, not opening my Bible. Just when I think I can close my eyes to my own sin, RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! God marches scripture through my head and heart, and I realize I've got to march to His proverbial drum or stay miserable.
I would like to say that I have surrendered, that this metaphor ends with a glorious sense of peace and rest for my soul, but you know what? Today I have not given thanks for the goose poop.
Which reminds me, I need to wash that quilt....
posted by Zoanna at
6:09 PM
3 Comments:
I love your humor! It's very refreshing--yes, even the goose poop is somehow a refreshing take on sin. Odd I know. Thanks for using your wit and humor to reflect Biblical concepts!
Danielle,
Whew! Glad you thought so. I wondered after I published it (unfortunately) whether it might offend the sensibilities of some. Guess I'll find out. God has a way of speaking to me through the most bizarre word pictures. If Jesus had been sitting in person on that grassy slope at the park, I'm sure he would've used the closest agricultural analogy available to speak to me. Thankfully He doesn't have to be in the flesh to reveal His truths!
Great post, Zo. I can definately relate to the old "throw the blanket over it technique. Isn't God merciful to not let us remain trapped in our "goose poop"?
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home