Gathered with friends around a game of Scrabble, I silently waited for my turn, rocking the letter ‘K’ under my forefinger, as my heart filled with lust for the triple word score.
My husband Michael sat across the board from me, where he had strategically placed himself beside the talker. The talker is the opponent who pays the least attention to the game, the most attention to the snacks, and generously opens the board up wide for the next player. This move is usually followed by an, “Oh well, it’s just a game,” while Michael covers his smirk with a cup.
I had seen that smirk several times in the early years of our marriage, each time Michael sat to the left of his Grandma. But as the years went by, the smirk was seen less and less when I caught on to his strategy, and grew closer to her myself. Things obviously hadn’t changed much over time, although Grandma wasn’t present that evening, his broadened lips were in full force after he slipped unnoticed into the winners seat. He proudly sat; sipping a coffee while nodding his head to the talker on his right, who had just discovered that qua and pi are actual words. I had to score big if I had any hope of bringing him down. I waited in silence.
With a tilted head and a hand on his mother’s shoulder, a squeaky voice broke our concentration, “Mom, why is a mouse just sitting in the kitchen?”
Before cramming another chip in her mouth, the talker stopped and turned to her son, “Is it a toy honey?” She asked with a puzzled look on her face.
“No,” He shook his head with wide-eyed sincerity, “It’s a breathing mouse, Mom.”
I froze for a moment, before getting up; my reputation dangled before me like a rat on a worn out thread. I could only imagine what the talker was thinking and what they may tell their friends, “Oh, you think you’re a bad housekeeper? Darlene’s kitchen is so dirty, there are mice running all over the place. I swear she hasn’t washed that floor in a year!” What if it was true? What if there was a mouse in the house? What if they discovered I’m not a Martha?
They were on their way to the pit, formerly known as my kitchen. There was no time to kick it under the cupboard, or sweep it under the mat. Soon we’d be dialing ‘Rabies 911’.
Flushed, I rose, prepared to face my humiliation. Sure enough, in the center of the checkered linoleum floor was a rodent, breathing as though he had just finished sweating to the oldies with Richard Simmons. I was too frightened to move, because I knew if I did, he would dart across the room, scurry up my pant leg and start clawing at my face. Paralyzed with fear I stared into his beady little eyes.
My fearless husband Michael slipped on his glove and courageously scooped up the tiny creature,
boldly going where many men have gone before. With the sound of a flush, we knew it was over for the little dude.In the safety of the kitchen downstairs, we waited, blissfully unaware that upstairs Michael was battling against the forces of nature. Nature had called someone else only moments before to drop a load the size of Texas in the toilet. Thus began the war of man against nature as Michael raced against time to grab the plunger.
As the water rose higher and higher, Michael moved faster and faster. Running. Plunging. Sweating. Swearing. The mouse realized it was his last chance at freedom as he struggled against the current and clung to the plunger that jostled him to and fro. If only he could manage to climb up the handle, he could scurry up the man’s sleeve and start clawing at his face. But the force of the water rained on that parade, releasing his grip on the dome of salvation.
Finally, swirling in circles that carried him down, his eyes looked up at the frantic face of the man who only moments before courageously scooped him up in the palm of his glove. Now, standing in the center of the bathroom was a man—without his grin—breathing as though he had just finished sweating to the oldies with Richard Simmons. And then it was dark.
We are jostled to and fro as we fight to survive against the current of the world that so easily drags us down. Struggling to find freedom, we desperately clutch to the dome of salvation, but what is that dome that we’re all fighting to hold? It’s only when we firmly plant our feet on a solid rock that we can have confidence on that which we stand. The solid rock on which I stand is salvation through Jesus Christ.
There are times when Michael and I are frustrated as adults, as parents, and as a married couple. Stress overtakes our lives like a tornado ripping through our home, leaving us with only two choices: stick it out, or stick it out. We choose to stick it out. Working together in accordance to God’s plan and his will for our lives is our way of building upon the foundation. As carpenters we build a spiritual house with doors for our children to walk through, windows to show them God’s love and cupboards to tuck away the precious words of God as they lock them into their hearts. It’s a humble home with much need for improvement, but by installing God’s word into our lives, together we continue to build a home that is pleasing to God.
“But if you just use my word in Bible studies and don’t work them into your life, you are like a stupid carpenter who built his house on the sandy beach. When a storm rolled in and the waves came up, it collapsed like a house of cards.” - Mathew 7: 26, The Message
The crowd will naturally follow the world and seek guidance from those who tickle their ears. I go against that flow, but finally get my triple word score, when, written across the board of my life, thirty-five wooden letters read, “As for me and my house—we will serve the Lord.”
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To read more samples of Darlene's writing, read her monthly column "DysFUNctional" at Christian Women Online Magazine.
