I love fresh.
I love the smell of freshly baked anything, especially bread.
I love the smell of laundry fresh off the line.
I love fresh sheets on the bed.
I love a fresh, crisp morning.
I even love freshly fallen snow.
Today has a unique freshness about it.
Today I am diving into my writing in a fresh way,
with a fresh commitment,
with fresh determination,
with fresh hope,
with fresh desire.
With the good things of recent classes, comments, critiques, and encouragement
I am going to start fresh.
I am starting fresh.
I am writing.
I am setting goals.
I will be achieving them.
Today is fresh for my faith, too.
I will not always be on the mountain top, high on the energy-charged experience,
rubbing elbows with accomplished industry artists and creative genius.
I will walk through average days, difficult days, insanely busy days
and I will walk with fresh and renewed trust that One who has called me to this
will bring it to completion.
Today is fresh.
And fresh feels good.
The sweet little lady I care for sometimes has poopy accidents, on the way to the bathroom and in the bathroom. Today was on the way. As I was on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor, I started thinking about Brother Lawrence and his little book, “Practicing the Presence of God”. He came to understand his relationship with God in a whole new way as he scrubbed the floors in the monastery. I bet the other brothers weren’t leaving poopy piles on their way to chapel. Even still, I figured I needed to work on a more gracious attitude.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized, I have a really poopy life. When I get done cleaning up poopy messes at work, I go home and clean up the poop piles the pups have left around the yard. Then recently the grandson has had some issues with poop that have required my cleaning up the toilet and him. My gracious resolve was fading fast.
How was I going to deal with these crappy feelings about crap? Can a person actually be happy for poop? In a weird sort of way, I guess I am. I can be thankful that I’m cleaning up poop at work because It means I have a job. Not every day is poopy. Cleaning up after my sweet lady is okay, because I care about her and by minimizing the problem I help her hold on to the remainder of her dignity. Cleaning up after my dogs means I still have these furry companions. I love them, too. I love their eager welcome when I come home and how they clean up the messes I make on the kitchen floor. And I treasure that poopy little boy more than words can describe. Someday, a day coming way too soon, he won’t need his Mema to clean him up. I will treasure even the stinky moments I have now because it means he’s close enough to love on and spoil.
Poop happens. Some days more than others. One of my favorite stories is of two little boys put in two separate rooms where they found themselves knee deep in poop. The first boy stood in the middle of the room and cried while the second little boy started digging all around in the poop. When asked what he was doing he replied, “I’m looking for the pony. With all this poop, there has to be a pony in here somewhere.”
I am not a fan of poop. But I will keep looking for the pony.