Ironic

Well, this is ironic, I thought, even though it really wasn’t ironic at all.

To fully explain, let me back up to Monday, the day of Messy Closets.  As clearly as God spoke to my heart, gently reminding me that Monday was not the day to be consumed with out of control closets, He clearly gave me the green light on Tuesday.

I was cleaning up after the kids’ breakfast, and I popped my head into the playroom to check on them, where evidence of a reckless tornado left the room in a complete upheaval.  I sighed and actually smiled, thinking to myself, Thank you, Jesus for the strength I need for this day.

As soon as I finished my prayer, my nostrils were attacked by an overwhelmingly foul smell.  Not the smell of poop.  Not the smell of puke.  Not even the smell of soured milk.  This was a strong, musty smell that sometimes lingers in the laundry room where wet towels do not make it to the washing machine quick enough. 

With my nose completely violated by this horrible stench, I began walking around the kitchen sniffing like a crazy person.  It was not the laundry room.  It was not the trash can.  It was not the dishwasher.  It was not the playroom.  I even checked both kids’ diapers just be sure I wasn't confusing this smell.  And then. 

Slowly, I opened the pantry door and was assaulted by the horrible smell.  No, I thought. 

Back in the spring, Henrietta started sleeping on our back porch. I never minded the ducks in the front yard, but the back porch was a different story.  After too many mornings of the kids almost sliding in slimy duck poop, I told Henrietta she needed to find a new place to sleep.  To help her find a new shelter, we decided to stop feeding her every morning. 

I used to keep a basket on the pantry floor, and whenever we came across stale bread, I’d toss it in the basket for the ducks.  When we went to the park, we’d also grab a bag of stale bread to take with us for the ducks that hang around the lake.  I was proud of my organized little bread basket.  I was.  Until, that is, I forgot that we no longer feed the neighborhood ducks, so therefore have no need for the accumulating bread in our pantry. 

There it sat- a lovely little science experiment right on the floor of my pantry.  The same pantry I had blogged about the day before.  Ugh.  When I picked up the bag that no longer held traces of bread, but an awful, smelly, green fungus instead, I nearly gagged.  It was then that I thought I heard a quiet little chuckle, followed by these words from above, Go ahead and knock yourself out, child.  Today is your day to clean the pantry. And I'll give you all the strength you need to accomplish it.

Now by “clean” I want to be clear… my pantry still looks nothing like the one in my dreams.  There are still no labeled canisters of flour and sugar.  Nothing is straight and lined up just so.  Not a single canned good or spice container is in alphabetical order, or in any kind of order for that matter.  There are still corners of my pantry that are far from tidy, but there is no question about this: Mold will no longer be invading my space. 

The only reason I am even sharing this unflattering little story is because I fear that if my husband gets his hands on this computer, he will share it and put all kinds of exaggerated spins on it, further bringing to light my “messy” life.  

So there you have it.  I shared.