Manure Mess

Hello Friend! 

My goodness, it‘s ages since we chatted.  I confess I got attacked by September.  It’s a peculiar month.  Each fall I engage in home school visions of cozy family breakfasts followed by hyper spiritual devotions before school.  It never turns out that way.  In reality, it takes all the strength I have to pry myself from my bed as the leaves change and the sky turns slate grey.  Most prayers rising from my house come from my children, begging God to keep me away from their bedrooms so they can sleep 5 minutes longer.  It’s a spiritual time but not in the way you’d imagine.

Though I wake them with a cup of tea and a chipper attitude each morning, someone is always cross about being conscious, as if it were a rare occurrence.  I soldier on though, dodging estrogen ladened comments and critical levels of teenage hormones, a valiant warrior set on conquering the teen years.  The task seems endless and thankless, truthfully, but not much is going as I’d imagined these days.  What about you?  How are you fairing?

Some of my closest friends are blazing through trials and tribulations while I try to find my shoes and offer support.  At times I feel lame.  Last week I prayed for a friend in Haiti as hurricane Matthew drew near and spent part of Saturday praying for another in Charleston as Matthew passed off shore.  The storm knocked out communication so I turned on the news.  That only made matters worse, everyone was speaking in hyperbole without giving any information. 

Since Friday the problem has only increased. Listening to news is like being dipped in vomit.  Lies, vulgarity and opinions are everywhere.  The reporters are repeating the day’s nonsense, adding layers of commentary to words that are best left to rot on the floor.  What I need to do is turn off the radio.   

My youngest daughter helped clarify my thoughts while we were cleaning the barn this week.  When I say “cleaning the barn” I’m using a euphemism.  What I mean is that I used a rake and picked up vast quantities of horse manure and deposited them in a wheelbarrow.  Then, I waded through steams of horse urine and emptied the full wheel barrow of poop on a horse poo mountain and went back and repeated the process.  Many times over.   It is messy work, when it’s raining, it can be miserable.

Last week we had three new horses at the barn.  Instead of cleaning for 9, we were cleaning for 12.  On top of that, bad weather meant the stalls weren’t cleaned for two days.  When we arrived at the barn, it was a heck of a mess.  I’m not going to describe the scene but my heart wilted just a fraction.  But, we got to work, pulling bedding into buckets and getting the wheel barrows ready.

My youngest is new to this kind of work.  She gets stellar marks for enthusiasm but her skill set is being built so it takes a bit of instruction to get her through a stall.  Which is why she and I paired off and worked on the stall of a beast named Jackson.  After leading Jackson outside, my little returned and looked inside.  “Ugh,” she muttered.  “I know it’s bad,” I agreed.  “But you take that corner and I’ll start over here.  We can put the wheelbarrow in the middle and do the stall together.”   “Thanks Mummy,” she replied, pleased to have help.  We set to shoveling.  A moment later I was called from the stable.  I ran out to the ring to help a friend and returned a few minutes later. 

Did I mention my youngest is honing the skill of accuracy?  It’s easy to shovel manure, but her older sisters, who have a years’ experience, toss rake-fulls of dung into the wheelbarrow at an impressive distance.  This knowledge might explain why my youngest, upon hearing me enter the stall, turned and hurled a rake full of warm horse dung at my chest.  Rake control is the second skill my youngest lacks. Without knowing this, you might have been surprised to watch the rake slip from her fingers as she stumbled forward to retrieve it.  Retrieve it she did, just in time to grasp it and jab it into my unprotected squishy middle parts.  An innocent bystander might have thought she was trying to destroy the Pillsbury dough boys’ evil manure twin with a rake. 

What followed was a fair amount of screaming.  I didn’t say anything because I had horse dung up my neck and headed for the hose. Not sure what else to say about the experience my dear friend.  It was thoroughly unpleasant.

That’s what I was thinking this week as I scoured the inter-web.  “This is unpleasant.”  People are throwing around a lot of dung and stabbing people with their words.  It isn’t easily dismissed either, words hurt and emotions are running high.  I’ve decided it’s a hard time.

I was expressing my Canadian amazement at the American political system when my girlfriend sent me a most useful text.  “We need to you be patient with us, we are trying.”  From that moment, I’ve tried to imagine Jesus sitting in on all my discussions, political or otherwise.  Guarding my tongue is easier when I picture him alongside me.  I’m reminded it is easier to be silent than to clean up a mess of words. 

So I’m praying for you this week my friend.  That you turn off the radio and enjoy conversation with those you love.  Say something kind to someone grumpy this week.  Clean up a pile of dung, mind your tongue and don’t stab any anyone by accident. 

Thinking of you,

xoxKaren

PS.  Happy Thanksgiving Canada.  I miss you so much. 

Photo: Manure, a field in Randers in Denmark  

2005-06-23

Credit Malene Thyssen

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Malene