Before I go any further, I'll admit it: there's more than a touch of crazy in my family. Usually, it's the fun kind of crazy, but once in a while it's the kind that makes people raise an eyebrow, squeeze out a smile, and slowly back away.
That's exactly the reaction I got from Tom when I told him something had invaded my bathroom. "Honey, would you mind going in there and listening?" And of course, he did, and he didn't. Out he walked, shaking his head.
I really like our en suite arrangement. I have a wide vanity area that connects the bedroom and shower/water closet. (Mostly I enjoy not having to share my bathroom with the men in the house.)
First thing in the morning, or first trip after getting home from school, when I'd go into the water closet, I'd hear scratching and thumping. It took several indulgent tries for Tom to hear it, too. Whatever it was sounded like it was going to come crashing through the tile and splat onto the drain. (In which case, at least it would be easy to clean up.)
Tom thought it might be a bird that had mistakenly flown in the dryer vent, and wasn't too concerned. Judging by the force of the thumps and loudness of the scratches, I was thinking my invader was probably a bit bigger. Then I reminded Tom about the time a mouse got trapped between the walls of my friend, Merlene's house, and stunk to high heavens when it finally died.
To tell you the truth, it wasn't the potential stink that bothered me. Listening to the poor creature frantically struggle nearly brought me to tears each time I heard it. How helpless, how scared, how seemingly hopeless.
I've felt that way, more than once. I've ended up somewhere I never intended to be, and then felt trapped, like the bathroom invader. How long do I needlessly thrash about when God wants to guide me to freedom? How many times has He had to use the air compressor to blow me out of my mess?
My invader is gone, and hopefully recovered. I'm thankful for its sacrifice of suffering as an awkward reminder that even when we find ourselves invading or trapped in an unexpected place, God is still with us.
That's exactly the reaction I got from Tom when I told him something had invaded my bathroom. "Honey, would you mind going in there and listening?" And of course, he did, and he didn't. Out he walked, shaking his head.
I really like our en suite arrangement. I have a wide vanity area that connects the bedroom and shower/water closet. (Mostly I enjoy not having to share my bathroom with the men in the house.)
First thing in the morning, or first trip after getting home from school, when I'd go into the water closet, I'd hear scratching and thumping. It took several indulgent tries for Tom to hear it, too. Whatever it was sounded like it was going to come crashing through the tile and splat onto the drain. (In which case, at least it would be easy to clean up.)
Tom thought it might be a bird that had mistakenly flown in the dryer vent, and wasn't too concerned. Judging by the force of the thumps and loudness of the scratches, I was thinking my invader was probably a bit bigger. Then I reminded Tom about the time a mouse got trapped between the walls of my friend, Merlene's house, and stunk to high heavens when it finally died.
To tell you the truth, it wasn't the potential stink that bothered me. Listening to the poor creature frantically struggle nearly brought me to tears each time I heard it. How helpless, how scared, how seemingly hopeless.
I've felt that way, more than once. I've ended up somewhere I never intended to be, and then felt trapped, like the bathroom invader. How long do I needlessly thrash about when God wants to guide me to freedom? How many times has He had to use the air compressor to blow me out of my mess?
My invader is gone, and hopefully recovered. I'm thankful for its sacrifice of suffering as an awkward reminder that even when we find ourselves invading or trapped in an unexpected place, God is still with us.
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