March 27 – “Poo bombs”

Ah, it was great to have three little boys around the house again.  Jachin was just old enough to be masterfully creative.  Micah and Zak were just old enough to follow through with the schemes they concocted together.  Reminded me of my younger days.  Much younger days.  And of course I was always just the one who would follow.  I never came up with any mischief on my own.  Right, Mom?    Seems that the boys were outside in the back yard embroiled in an ever-escalating scenario involving pirates and space ships and force fields.  The ladies – their Moms - were out there with them, relaxing in lawn chairs and talking about whatever it is that Moms talk about when they know their children are perfectly safe, playing up on the deck.    And then it began.  Slowly at first, then with more regularity, the Moms began to notice that objects were falling from the sky.  Nothing large, of course.  Just little bits of sand or was it a passing seagull, leaving a stray feather?  About the time Chris went out to join them the objects seemed to increase in size.  And as the girls concentrated a bit more on the situation, they heard –faintly at first – the unmistakable sounds of giggling.  Plop.  That one sounded and looked more like a clod of dirt than a particle of sand.  Giggle.  Smack.  Now that one was definitely larger than before.  Giggle.  Thud.  Thud.  Thud.  Three at once.  Full on laughter from above.  One of the Moms hastened to explain to Chris that the boys had obviously found a stash of mud upstairs, and they were sharing their new-found treasure through bombing attacks.  Chris took one look at the tiny missiles and fought to keep the grin off her face.  "That's not mud," she managed to explain.  "I'm sorry.  I must have forgotten.  I swept up a pile of dried dog mess, and …"  She didn't have to finish.  Amidst a chorus of "Oh, gross," and "Jachin," "Micah," Zakary," the Moms launched a counter attack of their own.  "Get down here and wash your hands.  That's not mud.  It's … it's … Just get down here right now."    Dried poo bombs.  The stuff of a truly memorable spring break.   Isaiah 64:8 says, "Yet, O Lord, you are our Father.  We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand."   Father, thank you for the incredible creativity of a child's mind.  It is truly inspiring.  Amen.