Posie and Sheol: A Bitter Lamentation

We are in a Zero Tolerance moment with our puppy who came to believe, very wrongly, that the laundry room was the best possible loo. Given that the laundry’s official name is Sheol, you can imagine the practically biblical proportion of teeth gnashing and shrieking that a person, going down to cleanse all our garments from stain and sadness, would give way to. The poor little guy, convinced of the goodness of his ways, would wait and wait until we turned our heads and became distracted, and then would rush down and back up before anyone knew anything.

After much casting of aspersions and blame upon each other–all eight of us–I determined that I would, for the vast majority of both day and night, have him tethered to my wrist. So, he and I, together, do everything, with a goodly portion of angst on both sides. My angst was poured out to the brim around 1:30 and then 2:30 this morning I walked up and down with him outside, in the cold, while he resisted all bodily needs because we weren’t in the laundry. But finally, may the God and Father of us all be praised, he gave in, and was duly congratulated for the goodness of his ways.

That’s the trouble with parenting, and then being suckered into cats and puppies. There’s poop everywhere. You can’t get away from it, no matter how much you try to insulate yourself from the idea that the substance of your days, while not entirely comprised of cleaning up poop–you do get to do a lot of other things, like cooking and doing laundry–practically every moment and hour will involve the removal of poop.

Sometimes you just want to give up and not bother. You can’t do this with children of course, although your mind is filled with wild, fantastical dreams of there never being a child that requires your help in that regard. But with cats and puppies, you are always beating back the temptation to give them away, or pretend the poop just isn’t there, right in front of you.

And then there are the moments of sheer terror and rage, where you and your beloved just shriek and bellow. Like when two little girls thought they would change the kitty litter, to be helpful don’t you know, and so poured new kitty litter into old, ever so quietly, and stirred it around, and then scooped some into the bath tub, and then turned on the water, and then removed their clothes, and prepared themselves to enter into this amazing concoction themselves, but made the mistake about the water, which was heard from downstairs, and so there you are, you, two little girls, your husband, everyone shrieking with blood curdling horror and rage. Amazingly, my two little ones don’t seem to remember this moment that is so indelibly marked upon my psyche that in some ways I feel I will never be healed until I myself am consoled in the Bosom of Abraham, looking over the vast chasm of Sheol, not feeling bad at all about the other people on the other side who are probably there because they gave way to all the poop in their lives. I’m not really speaking of people. I’m pretty sure that there are some very very sinful cats who will live in the shadow lands forever.

I jest. Don’t write me nasty letters. I know all animals go to heaven. And babies. They all go there. Don’t yell it me. For Realz. I Have Suffered Enough Already.

The only way that I can see to deal with all the poop of parenting, is to understand, viscerally and primally, that by wading through the mire of human and puppy refuse, I am getting to understand what it’s like for God dealing with all humanity. He could just let us go, to deal with all of everything on our own. But out of mercy and grace, he is constantly removing the foul stench of sin from our lives. He is always correcting us and cleaning us and standing there, teeth clenched, tethering the soul and the conscience to do the right thing. When he doesn’t do that, when he just lets us go our own way into awfulness, it is a mark of his perfect judgement. If you find yourself hounded by the Almighty, it is a mark of his merciful love, and you should try to be grateful. Believe me, sometimes, I totally am–grateful that is.

And on that note, it is time for me and the puppy to return to the great outdoors, because that is the godly thing to do. Have a lovely day.