Plugged Drains

Yucky duty with a lesson attached, here it goes:

I have med length hair. With that comes, slow drains and the ever disgusting job of dehairing the pipe. Not the high light of the every blue moon, when this job has to be done. Yesterday was “D” day. Gross.

Today’s shower time (“Can’t Touch This” is now running through my mind) and I fully expected the water to flow freely down the drain. Not so much. My toes were in a puddle, then my ankles. My showers aren’t long, so I didn’t drown, but I was very disappointed. I finished and then did a drain check, fully expecting to get out the prickly plastic drain thingy again. Nope. Our drain is tricky and before I screwed the cap back on yesterday,  the plunger had been pushed to “closed.” One more push and Niagra Falls was cascading down my drain. Success.

Everyone has a tub of life that our heavenly Dad uses to scour away our filth, and wash us clean. Sometimes we accidentally, or not so much, plug it up and our dirt remains along with the water, once pure, clean, and purposeful. It gets mixed up with our yuck, turns dark and contaminates everything it come in contact with.

When we don’t keep our drains clean, I call this confession, I plug my drain and everything around me is polluted as my filthy water/stinky attitude, affects everything and everyone around me. Plunger and prickly thing time (no Vanilla Ice).

The unclogging is yucky, stinky, and painful if the pricklys stab me, but necessary in order to get out the dirt and get my tub clean again. My confession is difficult, greater than I want to admit. I must face my shortcomings, failures, poor choices, and everything else I chose to do, take responsibility and apologize to my heavenly Dad for letting the “stuff” become more important than my relationship with Him.

Once that’s done, He begins again, chipping away at my rough spots, washing away the debris and revealing the masterpiece I didn’t even know was underneath all that crap (that is a LOOOOONG way off, but I have faith that it is under there, somewhere).

I wish I could say I do this on a regular basis so I never have a clogged drain but I don’t. When my drains starts to slow, I ignore it, hoping it will clear itself (denial). I usually don’t face my crap until I’m knee deep, at wit’s end, and then forced to face the reality of the nasty.

If you have watched my journey this week it kind of looked like this: funk (frozen, any and all progress ceased, maybe even steps backwards), praise, confession, and then I am unburdened enough to take another step forward.

Why does this cycle even start? This is part of the confession: I take my eyes off of the creator and focus on all the crap that covers me. I feel the weight, telling myself I can’t carry it anymore. I need be patient as he is chipping away the burdens and washing away the ugliness, and praise Him for loving me enough to do this painful, stinky task (He technically doesn’t even have to do). I forget that He loves me and it was the Creator that gave me the very breath that I breath. Spiderweb:

That thought takes me to my last moments with Archie, where I tried to breath life for him…but that was my feeble attempt and I am not God. I am not enough.

Job 23:7 “For as long as life is in me, And the breath of God is in my nostrils..”

See you on Monday…Archie’s birthday. Until then, enjoy:

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Author: Tracy Cook

Widowed one week before our 27th wedding anniversary, Heavenly Dad continues to carry me, now blessing me with a second chance for love.

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