Gratitude or, on this occasion, grati-poo-ed

   Pushing back waves of deep slumber, I struggled to surface.
   'What is that noise?' Tears and angry voices identified my grand-kids arguing. Nothing unusual about that...except the time. 1.30 am
   My brain ground into action. I was in my daughter's bed and the kids were my responsibility. Like a drunken sailor, I heaved myself off the bed and bounced off the walls, trying to find my feet.
   The  lounge room lights were on. I blinked, trying to focus.
   Miss six is wailing. 'I have dog poo between my toes.'
    A cranky Miss Twelve is standing near a pile of crumpled toilet paper. 'Stop yelling. I've cleaned it up!'
   Was this a silly dream? I tried to shake the crazy images away.
   No, I was awake.
   Are the girls acting out a nightmare?

   Then I see it. A trail of diarrhea puppy poo, camouflaged by the cork tiles, runs from the middle of the dining room down the hall. Pooey, puppy footprints lead off into the distance. Reality hits me about the same time as the smell.
   Watching every footfall to avoid brown puddles, I located a wet rag and cleaned both little feet, being careful to clean between the toes. She was still crying and refused to move.
   Miss twelve explained that there had been an accident. Her bed (where they were sleeping together) was wet. She was not happy.
   I sighed. 'Go and sleep in Mummy's bed.'  I'd been asleep there a few minutes ago, but I wouldn't be returning in a hurry.
   'C'mon.' She pulls at her little sister. Even in her tired frustration she still tried to care for her distraught little sister.
   'I'm not going anywhere until my Mummy comes.' Its tough on little kids when their Mummy is pulled off to hospital, without warning, for the night.
   'Whatever!' Miss twelve heads to bed alone.
   I surveyed the damage. My fuddles brain had no idea where to start.
   'Can't sleep in Mum's room.' The twelve year old returns. 'There's dog vomit on the carpet.'

   I'd preached that very morning, about fourteen hours ago. Since then I'd weathered one major family       disappointment, my beautiful grandchild had administered the epipen and gone to hospital by ambulance. On two hours sleep, I was now faced with a puppy poo disaster of epic proportions!
   The words of my own sermon rang in my ears. 'Is your cup empty? God wants to pour out His Spirit so you will never thirst again.'
   I had related the story of how the Lord stripped me of pride and self sufficiency so I could encounter more of Him. Brave words, spoken from a pulpit, mocked me from gleaming, smelly, brown puddles of poo.

On my hands and knees, with toilet paper and spatula, I had to return to basics.
'In everything give thanks.' I knew that was the road to victory, but it took a while.
'Lord, I thank you that  this poo is on tiles, not on carpet. I thank you Lord, that I can do all things.I thank you for your strength that never runs out.'
So in grati'poo'de, I cleaned the house.
As for the great Dane puppy? She's still alive but now sleeps outside at night.