Where there are No Oxen...

I've noticed that during certain seasons of my life, different scriptures will stand out and hold new meaning depending on what I'm going through. This summer, a verse from Proverbs was constantly floating around in my head, and being repeated on my lips. For ye curious, here it is:

"Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean,
but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox." Proverbs 14:4


Our pastor preached on this verse a few years ago and shed light on what I'd see as an otherwise "odd" passage. He explained that oxen are excellent farming animals, able to plow fields and move dirt with greater ease than a farmer would ever have with a shovel. The only thing is that oxen are big animals, and they consume a lot of feed. And as we all know, what goes in, must come out. Oxen poop. A lot. Therefore, the manger is gonna get dirty. It just comes with the territory. Our pastor reminded us that too often we get caught up with the "poo" and forget to be grateful that we even have an oxen to plow our fields.

This past summer, I was tempted to be ungrateful for the oxen in my life. All I was seeing was the poo. And I mean literally. Lemme esplain'.

Since record hot temperatures had settled into our area, we naturally dressed to stay cool. Shorts and t-shirt were the order of the day, as were onesies for my munchkin. On one particularly hot day, I had laid Olivia down for a nap and gone about my routine to "get stuff done" while she was asleep. About 30 minutes after laying her down, I passed by her room and noticed that things were quiet. Too quiet. Carefully opening the door, I planned to peek in and check on my sleeping beauty.

As I cracked the door and stuck my head in, I was struck in the face with an unbelievably horrendous odor. It was enough to daze me for a second. When I dared to open my eyes, I did NOT find my peacefully sleeping child, but a creature clinging to the rail of the crib. This thing had dark brown eyebrows and muddy hands. It saw me, and to my horror, I realized that the thing was my child...covered in poo.

Despite the constraint of her onesie, Olivia had managed to fill her diaper and pull it's contents out through the gussets underneath her legs. Being alone and the creative sort, she decided to finger-paint. Her eyebrows were perfectly outlined, her feet looked mid-way through a mud mask, and her sheets were littered with tiny brown doodles. I was aghast. When our eyes met, she saw the look of dismay on my face, knitted her brown eyebrows, looked at me and said: "No???" I repeated her "No.", and she burst into tears. She'd been caught, and knew this wasn't the right kind of finger-painting project I normally encourage.

For a while I stood surveying the mess. Where does one begin? Call 911? Recruit a Hazmat team? I finally settled on running a warm and very soapy bath while I collected all contaminated articles of clothing and fabric. It took a while to get everything in hand, but Olivia had her bath, the sheets were washed, and she was once again put to bed...this time in cotton footie pajamas. I wasn't going to risk it.

I'd like to tell you that this episode was the last I experienced, but I can't. I'm an optimist and hoped that such a thing would never happen again, but it did. Forgetting to be faithful with footie pajamas at every nap, I entered Olivia's room to see brown eyebrows two more times that week. My first reaction wasn't always the best, but after more laundry and more scrubby-bubble baths, I was able to laugh.

At the time, I may not have been thankful for the poo, but was mindful of how great it is to have a little one. Not everything about motherhood is pretty, but whoever said it has to be? Where ever you are in life, you'll have to deal with some form of poo. Just remember that having an oxen is not without it's benefits (not that everything in our lives is supposed to incur a return). I'm blessed to be able to clean up the messes...because I have a daughter.

Perspective (and gratefulness) is everything my friends. For all the poopy diapers I may have to change, there are still giggles, silly songs sung in a high-pitched voice, tight hugs from little arms wrapped around my neck, and an ocean of joy from having Olivia as my daughter. Yes, there may be days a littler messier than others, but I'll take them, poo and all. Just preferably safely contained in her diaper.