Liquid Ooze
Spring is alive and well. The dogs come into the house and scratch. The cats scratch. Tiny dots move through their fur--fleas. Not wanting to allow the fleas to breed, yet know once they are notice it is too late, she went to the local pet store and got flea/tick treatment for all the animals. Once one flea has entered the premises--they must all DIE.
She and the boy had rounded up all the essential tools, treatment, scissors, and the animals. The dogs were easy. Distract them with a treat and they will play statue while the ointment goes into their fur. Cats, however, are a completely different story.
Starting with the eldest of the bunch, the boy picked up the cat, stroking his fur, whispering loving words. Mom, also began to stroke the silken fur reaching behind to rub that sweet spot between the ears, behind the ears and then . . . COLD, stinky liquid oozed onto his skin. Flipping in the boys arms, the startled cat leaped to the couch. Something was on him--right where he couldn't reach! Stalking off, he left the room.
Next came the baby of the family walking through the room to see what his brother was up to, and the boy picked him up. He curled into his arms and purred as the boy paid homage--as was his due. Mom was messing with stuff, making interesting sounds in a sack, but eventually came to pet him as well. She was talking about some nonsense about this would be good . . . would be over in a minute . . . when COLD, stinky liquid oozed onto his skin. It burned. It startled. It was vile smelling. Hissing him leaped from the boy and reached around to lick it off. He couldn't reach it.
He ran off to the other room. Mom followed, "Pill it will be okay. This will kill the fleas so you don't itch baby. Calm down." He was having none of her. She put something awful on him. His fur stood up in spikes. He would NOT allow her to touch him. As she walked toward him, he stalked off and disappeared under a chair. She wasn't going to get near him.
The boy, holding the third cat called to his mother, "Mom, let's get finished." She withdrew from her search for him and went off to do the dirty deed to his other brother. Soon, Mew joined him under the chair.
Later, Mom called him. He was having none of her. He moved to another room. She followed. He left. She tried to touch him, but he rejected her overtures--even the treat.
The rest of the day, if she entered the room, he left. She was heartbroken.
In the middle of the night, he wanted to go sleep in his bed--next to his mom, but he still reeked of the liquid ooze she had put on him. It reminded him of her betrayal. She had marred his perfect fur. Once when she went to the bathroom, he was eating and she tried to pet him, but he was quick and left the room. She had to be punished.
The next day, she was enjoying a sunny spot when she entered the room. Without thinking about it she wrapped himself around her ankles. Then he caught a whiff of a vile smell. As she reached down to stroke his fur, he left her and leaped to the highest point he could find.
"I love you little boy. You have to forgive me sometime. We don't want fleas, so I had to get rid of them. You will feel better soon." He ignored her.
Later that day she walked into the kitchen and found him stretched in front of the window. With half opened eyes he gazed at her as she quietly came to him. Whispering words of love she stroked his soft, warm body. She attended to the places that only his mom knows brings him delight. He melted into her hands--until he remembered. It felt so good though, that he decided she had been punished enough. He didn't itch any more. Mom was telling him how good a boy he was. Her hands stroked, stroked, and appeased him. All was right with his world again.
There are things in life that if left untreated, ignored, or overlooked can quickly escalate out of control. Like fleas, they rapidly multiply and take on a life of their own that invades our lives. They may be easily treated, but it is momentarily . . . uncomfortable. Things like apologizing for hurting someone's feelings with a remark we didn't really mean, but were trying to make a joke; forgetting an important date, anniversary and just pretending it never happened; not listening to another's perspective; or . . . just being dumb at times.
Little things tend to add up. One offense can be overlooked, but two or ten can begin to build walls until the relationship is broken. Conflict arises and connection and peace is lost--sometimes never to be regained.
Often that is how our relationship with God becomes broken. We take one step away from God, then two, then more. Soon our little stroll has led us to a place we don't know. We lose our way--our balance--our center. God whispers to us. God reaches out for us. God seeks us, speaking to us, reveals God's self to us, gently calling us. When we allow God's touch . . . relationship is restored. Our path to healing, to rightness, to peace is restored.
God, no matter how far we run or hide, no matter how much we may snarl, snap, or yell, we know that you are always seeking us . . . loving us . . . and calling to us, because you love us. Help us, patient, seeking God to surrender ourselves to your love so that we may walk, in harmony, with you. So be it. Amen.
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