Football Is My Life

Posted By on March 20, 2009

No, not really. Actually, that’s a phrase that just conjures up old memories. When my nephew was first learning to talk, his dad decided that his first sentence would be “Football is my life.” I don’t know if it actually was or not (though I somewhat doubt it.)

But the fact is, football is most emphatically not my life. Poop is. Some people are called to be great philosophers. Some are called to be the best classroom mom. I’m called to poop patrol. I’m called to clean poop off of walls, out of carpets, and even to cut it out of hair. I don’t know why, but this is the life God has called me to, so He must have a reason. And I know I can’t leave the poop in Monkeytot’s hair, no matter what demon possessed her to put it there; so I clean it. And whether I have a good attitude or a bad attitude, it still needs cleaned.

Would I love to be called to be a great writer, or an influential public figure? You betcha. Would I love to be one of those people who inspires others by having a perfect family and a house that smells like apple pie? You know it. But for some perverse reason, God deigned that my place in the world should involve excrement. And He knows best.

So I guess I’d better learn to give to Him with joy and love, even when He asks something I’d really prefer not to give. He’s the boss… if He wants it, He gets it. I really don’t care for the alternative.

So, Monkeytot, though you can’t yet read, I think I’ll take this moment to tell you that I love you. I really wish you’d leave the droppings in the diaper, but even that won’t stop me from loving you. And despite this phase (which, God willing, will pass) I still love the One who made you, too.


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