Water Trough Obedience

The grandchildren had gone home after spending the night, and the house was blissfully quiet. Sunday morning worship had been joyous and uplifting. After serving a huge dinner and finishing dishes, I got a rare Sunday afternoon nap. It could have been a perfect day. Then my husband announced we needed to move the water trough for the heifers to have safe water. Nothing tests my salvation like a nasty farm chore. To be fair, I’m a little more reluctant about “helping” since the great protein tub disaster of November that resulted in my broken toe.

Still after forty-two years, I shouldn’t have been surprised at the request. Since my husband’s neck injury, the boys have been helpful in the mowing and repairing fences. Moving the trough was just another minor gross farm chore in the life of a reluctant farmer’s wife. I was not gracious. I was not spiritual. I pouted. I waded in the muck. I savored the smell. I sweated down my Sunday hairdo. I pulled hoses. I fussed about wading through thorny weeds. I fought the aggravating dogs for my seat on the utility vehicle. I even said aloud, “I hate farming.” We got it moved. When we were done, I did not like the look I saw in the mirror. Not my hair, my frown. It reminded me of the thirteen-year-old look I gave my father once when he asked me to clean up the kitchen for my mother. When Daddy saw that look, he said,” Would you like me to give you something to pout about?”

I am the prodigal’s elder brother. “He was angry and would not go in” (Luke 15:28 ASV). I enjoy the blessings and bounty of living here on the farm, but I perform my duties with a grudge. The elder brother mentioned his service, but he seemed to have no love. At thirteen, I learned to hold “the look” until I got to my room. But God won’t send me to my room. Neither will my husband. They will suffer my bad behavior. But they shouldn’t have to. I’m supposed to be better than this. I can’t praise God in my Sunday clothes all holy and righteous at 10 am and then act like a stubborn mule at 3 pm. And so, I bring my shame to the Father as David does,
“Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness:
According to the multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions…
Create in me a clean heart, O God; And renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from thy presence;
And take not thy Holy Spirit from me” (Psalm 51:1-2,10-11 ASV)

And I will make it up to my husband. Somehow….

Enjoyed the Post? Share...

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Linkedin

email

Digg

Reddit

• ← Mercy Reigns
• Wisdom from Centenarians →