One Sunday in the Spring of 2012

 This story originated and was written soon after Dad's first stroke in 2012. Even though it has been five years since this occurred, I vividly recall that Sunday morning. Time and experience doing stuff like this have a way of strengthening a person. I don't think I would be as repulsed today.

You Did What on the Lord’s Day?

                One of the responsibilities of assisting my father in his stroke recovery was feeding his four farm cats. I finished feeding the two gray tabbies and the two ginger cats and decided to make a quick survey of the garden on the glorious spring Sunday morning.

Rows of green beans planted in 2012

                This activity seemed on the surface to be one that would be swift to complete. Unfortunately, for me this was not at all what was facing me. I glanced at the end of the newly planted row of green beans. There was a dead armadillo! Oh no! I had to get that dead carcass out of the garden. Dad had always been more than willing to do all of the dirty, disgusting jobs on the farm, but since the stroke he could do that no more.  I summoned all the resolve and courage within myself and got a large scoop shovel and empty feed sack. I knew if I delayed for even a moment I might talk myself out of this repulsive task. To leave that dead animal would result in an even more revolting situation because as I approached the dead armadillo I could tell some tiny sanitation members in nature were already at work. A slight odor could be detected. 

                As I used both hands to wield the bulky scoop shovel to cautiously lift the dead armadillo into the empty feed sack, it became apparent that I must use one of my heavily gloved hands to grab the stiff armadillo tail to successfully carry out this task. Even though there was no one else near me, I rolled my eyes and shook my head as if to say, “Why me? Why am I having to do this extremely abhorrent job on the Lord’s Day?”

                Then I carefully rolled down the top of the sack to lug it to the back of Dad’s pickup. As I hefted it into the bed of the pickup to haul it off to the far north ravine for disposal, an unusual thought entered my mind.

                Isn’t this what I do each Lord’s Day in the worship service? Don’t I ask to be aware of the Lord’s presence? Isn’t that so I can wholeheartedly worship Him? In turn, doesn’t some putrid thought, word, action, or attitude from the last week come into full view? For the first time since spotting the dead armadillo, a smile formed on my face. Each week don’t I bow my head and ask the Lord to forgive that specific sin He just revealed to me and doesn’t the Lord Jesus haul off that sin so I can renew that sweet fellowship with Him?

                Never would I have believed a dead armadillo on Sunday, the Lord’s Day, had so much to teach. I hope I can always remember that analogy I drew that day between sin in my life and the dead armadillo. As I recall dragging that sack with the dead armadillo out of the garden, may that forever be an impetus to seek quickly for the Lord to remove rancid sin from my life.

                Oh Lord, may the garden gate of my life be open to your forgiveness and removal so the sweet fragrance of your Holy Spirit may permeate it and positively affect those who pass through my life.

The garden Angie and Ben helped me put in
just a month after Dad's first stroke. This was in late May. 
Then the drought of 2012 hit. So much for harvest that year.