get poo out of carpet

So this is the last google search I did. The querey still sits in my search bar, mocking me.

If you can’t guess what I did this morning, then you obviously don’t have a 3 year old who “Drops it” on the carpet and then runs his cars through it… Repeatedly.

Nothing a shopvac, some vinegar, and an hour and a half couldn’t fix.

So I figured out today, I love my kids, but not because they are lovable. They are somewhat terrifying actually. But I’m compelled to love them anyway.

(Hold on tight, bud jumps into religious talk)

And then, as I on hands and knees wash the poo, realize that I’m not as lovable to God as I think I am. How many times have I pooed all over my life and then run through it, and God has calmly moved me along and patiently cleaned up the mess I made.

It doesn’t make sense to have kids, or to love them. Rationaly speaking, I should be much happier spending all my time and rescources on me. But I can’t. I am compelled to love my children.

And maybe that is the clearest picture I understand of being made in the image of God.

Kids teach good lessons, but they are smelly teachers.

Unrelated thought of the day:

“That would mean something if our hands were made of metal.”