It all began with a hearfelt prayer. (Those are the kind that seem to work best).
At 10:00 on Thursday night, I ended two teary phone conversations--one with my boyfriend and one with my mother. Boyfriends and moms are great at listening to teary conversations.
Maybe the tears had genuine reason or maybe they were induced by simple exhaustion, but they were flowing hard. I was frustrated. Frustrated with my general inability to wake up in the morning (see previous blog post). Frustrated that the only events I'd had time for on an average morning were a quick session with my tooth brush, time to sigh at my too-wrinkled-to-wear pants (oh well), and a quick minute to accessorize with a pretty plastic head band or giant earrings to distract from my swollen, bloodshot eyes. But above all, I was frustrated that I hadn't been making time to meet with Jesus before my days started spiralling into disorganized, chaotic whirlwinds of work and activity. Not even a few moments with Him. And that, I knew, was the real reason I was crying.
My boyfriend was thoughtful (and insightful) enough to pray for me. My mom did the same. Then I sent an email to a few good friends asking for prayer as well. They didn't have to pray that I would spring cheerfully out of bed every morning for the rest of my adult life, I just needed prayer for the next day. Change had to start somewhere.
Just as I was drifting into a sniffly-nosed, post-cry sleep, I prayed as well.
It worked.
At 5:30am, I was abrubtly awoken by the shrilling yelps of my roommates' dog, Brody (coming from just underneath my window). I immediately thought about how displaced his bark sounded. I was not used to waking up to Brody barking, because he almost always sleeps inside the house. But on this particular evening, he had curiously miandered into the moonlight, only to find a fluffy black and white friend who left him with a gift that was more than he bargained for. Brody had received a painfully pungent skunk spray, square in the face. Poor Brody.
I had known there was a notorious skunk population living somewhere near our home as I often picked up their whereabouts with the occasional faint, foul-smelling odor that was carried by a wind past my window. But never before had I had such an "up front" experience with a noctural little stink bomb. Before long, the sharp smell was trapped somewhere in the confines of my nasal cavity...not to mention it had saturated into everything else--bed sheets, clothing, carpets.
"I'm up! I'm up!" I told the Lord. There was no way I could have gone back to bed...even if I wanted to.
Hours later, it seemed as if the skunk had followed me to work. "Does this copy paper smell horrible to you?" I asked the lady at the desk next to me. "No, " she answered. Five minutes later, I asked again, "Do you smell something?" Again..."No." The piercing odor was with me for good, it seemed. My coworker, Meredith, was kind enough to give me her "Breathe Easy Peppermint Satchel"--fragrant potpourri wrapped in a small burlap sack she had tucked in her desk drawer. I had the peppermint bag glued to my face for awhile, until I decided I didn't like the intermingled mixture of skunk and peppermint together. Over lunch I had a few quiet minutes to myself. I stared at the bowl of hot soup in front of me, reluctant to eat it, because it smelled like skunk.
Every breath I took that day was a reminder of the skunk and, strangely, of God's awesome love for me. He really will do anything to spend time with his children. Just ask Him...I dare you.
