If we are friends on Facebook, you may have already read this, but I decided to post it here anyway. For those of you who haven't read it there ( I would love to be friends on Facebook), I will warn you that it contains a "potty word" that you might find repulsive-and I will apologize in advance for that. There is a reason for using it, and since I became a mom, I find I am less sensitive to those kind of words. They are just a necessary part of our everyday language around here!
We try to regularly meet with our children’s pastor to go over upcoming calendar events. Since they live on the other side of town, and we have four kids between us, we decided to meet at the food court at a local mall, and grab some Chic-fil-a. That way the kids could play in the play area while we had our meeting.
Upon arrival, our children’s pastors
wife, knowing I can be a little bit of a germaphobe, said “Are you
alright with them playing here –does it bother you?” Trying to overcome
these tendencies, I tried to blow it off and calmly replied “Na, it
doesn’t bother me –I mean they’ve already been at school all day- they
can’t get much dirtier than that, right?” We ate our dinner
and quickly got on with our meeting while the kids played. I was pretty
impressed with myself, enjoying the newfound freedom of releasing my
germ fears and not giving thought to the germ fest my kids were happily
participating in.
We were chatting away when all of the sudden
out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ella running towards me, Claire
spurring her on with tattle-tale eyes, (You know those eyes -they take on
that look when they have something really legitimate to tattle about). Ella arrived first, with a strained, dumbfounded look, but before she
could say anything Claire caught up and blurted out “Ella got her new
shirt dirty”. Ella, standing between her father and I, and knowing the
cat was out of the bag, lifted her arm to reveal a large brown spot on
the arm of her sleeve.
Grabbing her wrist to keep her arm extended, so
as to not come in contact with anyone or anything, I exclaimed, “What is
it?” (using my heebie-jeebie voice).
To which her father replied “I don’t know, smell it!”
“I
cannot smell it, you smell it!” I challenged, and being the gentleman
that he is, he bravel,y however carefully, and slowly leaned in to take a
whiff while we watched, the world halting to a stop around us, to wait
for the results. Although it seemed this took place in slow
motion, it was only a matter of milliseconds before the brown spot
revealed its truly offensive nature and my husband loudly exclaimed “Ohh! It’s POO!!” And just in case all those around didn’t have their
meals interrupted by hearing that exclamation, I quite loudly replied “
It’s POO! It’s POO! What do we do? What do we do?!”
Sounding
very much like a Dr. Seuss book reading now, I began instinctively
ripping the offensive smelling shirt off, and then realized that I had
probably scarred poor Ella for life as she was now standing, shocked and
shirtless, in the middle of the food court.
Our children’s
pastor’s wife quickly stepped in with her son’s spare sweatshirt and
then darted off to inspect our other kids for any signs of poo.
Meanwhile, I set off on a course to find the source of the poo. Hearing
Claire say she was in the ice cream truck, I headed in the direction of
the coin-operated vehicles.
At that very moment, I turned to
see a father sitting his daughter in the ice cream truck. Placing his
quarter in, he motioned to Ella to hop aboard and ride along. Ella,
apparently undaunted by the poo at the thought of getting a free ride,
quickly made her way on to the ice cream truck at which point I hear
myself yell “NO ELLA!!”
The man gesturing to me said, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I don’t mind if she rides along.”
I quickly replied “No you don’t understand, there’s poo (whispering
now like it’s a bad word) in the ice cream truck.” He looked at me
puzzled, his brain not quite catching up with my words, and so I
reiterated gesturing now “poo in the ice cream truck” and then for emphasis a little louder I repeated “poo!”
At this, his brain quickly kicked in, his body responding by swiping
his quarter and daughter in one scoop, thanking me profusely, as if I
had just saved him from making the biggest mistake he had ever made in
all his three to four years of fatherhood. One crisis averted, I stood
there trying to think what to do next when I heard our children’s
pastors wife say, “Shouldn’t we find someone to clean it?” Yes! Yes,
that would resolve this once and for all.
I turned to find a unsuspecting cleaning lady wiping a table nearby. Approaching her, I said “Can you help me out? There is poo(whispering
the offensive word once again) in the ice cream truck.” Apparently not
having lived in this country long and being only vaguely familiar with
the English language, it appeared that the cleaning lady was not
understanding me and so once again I reiterated “Poo in the ice cream truck” “ Ahh, ice cream!” she replied excitedly. “No, POO”
I said.
Wishing I had paid a little more attention in Spanish class; I
motioned for to follow me so that I could point out the evidence
myself. That was when I realized that “poo” is not a universal term and
I had failed in my attempts to make her understand the offensive nature
of this mess. I watched, as she moved her face closer and closer to
inspect the evidence and that is when my gag reflex kicked in. I
realized that to stay and see this job through any further would only
cause a larger mess and I resolved to leave it in her capable hands. I
walked away inhaling deeply, once at a reasonable distance, and I began
to reflect on these events.
As a playground patron, there
are several ways to handle, a “poo sighting”:
Some will simply upon
discovery, choose to ignore the poo. They like the ice cream truck and
like, Ella, why should a little poo stop them from enjoying a free
ride. As long as the poo doesn’t affect them, who cares?
Some upon
discovering the poo, would choose to sit back and watch the poo be
discovered by others. They might even find this quite entertaining to
see the reactions of others as they realize they have come in contact
with the offensive mess. What’s the harm in that, as long as they are
not involved them-selves? It could even be quite entertaining!
Still
there are others, like myself, that believe we still have a community
responsibility to expose poo when found, even though sometimes loudly
and to the chagrin of those enjoying a meal around us, we a have a no
tolerance policy when it comes to poo and we will go to whatever length
necessary to prevent others from being soiled by it and alerting those
in charge so that it can be handled appropriately.
Hmmm. Could
there be a heavenly meaning to this crazy experience? I think so, (I
sure hope so –I’d hate to think I lived through this one for nothing!)
How do we as Christians handle our own encounters with "poo"?
Are we willing to take a stand for for what is right no matter what the cost?
Are we willing to stick our neck out and do what it takes to expose it even if it means "missing out on a free ride in the ice cream truck" in order to prevent others from being affected by the it?
If we choose to deal with it, it won't be pleasant and it usually requires some persistence to get the job done, but I believe it's a responsibility we must take.
Pin It
Yes, yes, we must deal with poo. It takes courage, but we must.
ReplyDelete