I am upstairs in the master bathroom, bent over the bathtub, scrubbing the jets with a toothbrush. Suddenly, I feel something unusual at my feet. I turn to look, and I find Charlie, my six-month-old puppy, gleefully practicing his newly-discovered puberty on my tennis shoe. Yes, that’s right, my dog is humping my shoe.
I make a mental note: “Call the vet tomorrow and make an appointment to get this dog neutered.” I shove Charlie off my foot, and go back to toothbrushing my tub. Not to be deterred, Charlie bounds back and mounts my New Balances with ease. I shove him off again, and he slides across the tile floor with the splay-legged grace of a puppy.
Now he thinks it’s a game, and he comes running up to my shoe with a happy bark. I sit back on my heels with a sigh, put down the toothbrush, and do a little rough-and-tumble puppy play. Charlie forgets about foreplay and begins jumping and rolling around, loving every minute of attention that he gets. I forget about my toothbrush and enjoy living in the moment, giving affection to my sweet puppy.
So what’s the point here? Well, you have to read between the lines. I am in the bathroom, cleaning the tub for the fourth time. I have spent hours, probably four or five, cleaning the bathroom today. I am stuck in an OCD cleaning ritual, and I’m not too happy about it. I’m struggling to maintain a positive self-image, to not berate myself for returning to the tub.
Then, suddenly, as a distraction, God sends (of all things) a randy puppy into the bathroom. I am near tears. I don’t want to clean the tub again. But the compulsion is too strong. Until I meet something with a stronger compulsion: Charlie. The thought crosses my mind—how many times have I turned my husband on while cleaning this tub? I never thought it would work on dogs, too! I have to laugh.
Father blesses us in such creative and unusual ways. Finding the blessing in the middle of the mess is often the difficult part. That’s where I’ve been recently. Discovering unpleasant memories. Fighting old, unhealthy habits. But I read this today:
…sometimes I think of that story in the Old Testament….when God gave King Hezekiah fifteen more years of life? Because he prayed for it? But if Hezekiah had died when God first intended, Manasseh would never have been born. And what does the Bible say about Manasseh? Something to the effect that Manasseh had led the Israelites to do even more evil than all the heathen nations around Israel. Think of all the evil that would have been avoided if Hezekiah had died earlier, before Manasseh was born….Just that maybe…maybe you don’t want to change the story, because you don’t know what a different ending holds….There’s a reason I am not writing the story and God is. He knows how it all works out, where it all leads, what it all means. I don’t.
-Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
I’m caught up in an OCD cleaning ritual avoiding memories that I don’t want to think about. But what if I was writing the story? Of course I would write these memories out. Of course, I would make my life a Cinderella story. But what disaster would I inadvertently create? Would someone else be hurt instead? Someone who didn’t have the support and help that I have? Would I be willing to give my pain up if I knew someone else would feel it instead? No.
So I clean my tub knowing that my Father will give me the strength to fight this. I take joy in the intermissions of pleasure given to me, and I wait with anticipation for the day when He chooses to take this pain and crush it beneath His awesome feet.
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