I'm sure you can imagine in which direction this story is headed. But I'm going to tell it anyway. And just you watch, I'll even pull out some serious profoundness by the end.
So one fine morning this past week my now 9 month old Baby Muffin awoke at approximately 7:15am, and we begin the sweet morning ritual of wrestling and chasing and pinning and flailing until finally the bedtime diaper was removed, and a new one put in it's place. In the midst of the struggle I was able to identify two tiny turdlettes in the Little Pistol's dipe (this will become relevant in a moment). Because we use cloth diapers, said Peanut-y Pistol was left to fend for herself for a mere 15 seconds while Mama ran the old dipe to the bathroom.
And this is where it gets good.
Lo and behold upon returning from the bathroom I see a terrifying image: my Tiny Girl, head down, tongue of concentration peaking out, crawling full bore, and panting with excitement with the kind of glee she typically exhibits when hunting down a half-munched sweet potato fry that per chance has landed (or was tossed) beneath her highchair- only instead of eyeing up left-over food, she is headed toward a small brown object on the carpet.
It's at this point that I start screaming "AHHHHH! No, no, no, no, no, no!! Don't do it! DON'T DO IT!" and fly for her hand at mock speed, which in the interval has managed to ascertain said object (and, as I had feared, it is in fact a piece of poo).
The best part? Baby Girl stops mid-squish, fistful of poo just moments from her lips, scared stiff by the commotion I've caused (thank the good Lord it worked!), and starts crying REAL TEARS! Not oh-mommy-you-scared-me tears or even the angry tears that usually accompany Mommy saying "no," but honest to goodness HEARTBROKEN tears.
I had just taken what she had clearly (though wrongly) identified as a squishy little morsel of deliciousness, and she was so hurt that she wouldn't look at me.
The poor Bug was a tragic mess, and I'm just full of relief and choking back laughter, because seriously IT WAS A PIECE OF POOP! But she doesn't care. The facts fall on deaf Baby desires for the sneakily acquired scrumptious tidbit that could have been.
How many times have I tried to eat poo? Spiritually speaking that is (that's right, this is about to get profound).
I'm sitting there watching her cry and mourn the loss of something that never should have been, and it hits me- I try and eat poo all the freaking time.
And luckily, from time to time the Lord (in his mercy) grabs my hand, shuts a proverbial door, and I'm left shocked.
craving the crap that looked like food,
the very thing I was running toward,
the thing I just knew would make me happy.
I sulk. I think about how mean He is for taking it away, I pine for the right to run my own life outside of His guidance- to have the things I want.
And the whole time He must be looking down on His sweet daughter, confused though she be, and trying not to chuckle as He comforts me through my "loss." Thinking all the while: Trust me child, you really REALLY do not want that.
"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your ways, declares the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9
Thank you for the hilarious object lesson, Abba. You really are the coolest.