Stuck in the Mud

It was another rainy, spring day on the farm.  I was three or four years old, and I'd been cooped up in the house for too long.  Mom dressed me in my coat and overshoes, and sent me outside to play in the warm, gentle rain.  I don't know if she told me to go find my dad, who was working across the lane in the corn crib, or if I decided on my own to leave the safety of the house yard and make the trek across the muddy lane to see what he was doing.  Anyway, I started confidently across the lane, savoring the heady smells of rain and flowers and freshly plowed earth.  I stomped triumphantly in every puddle, as young children always do.  But as I made my way across the lane, the mud got deeper and stickier;  it grabbed onto my feet like glue, and wouldn't let go.  I tried to keep walking, but I couldn't lift my feet off the ground.  I was stuck in the mud in the middle of the lane, halfway between the house and the barn.  I started yelling, "Mama!  Daddy!  Help me!"  But I was too far from the house for Mom to hear me, and too far from the corn crib for Dad to hear me, either.  It wasn't long before the raindrops mingled with the tears on my cheeks, and I started to get hoarse from yelling and crying. 

I don't know how long I stood there in the mud before Dad finally noticed me and came to my rescue.  He reached down and pulled me right out of my awful, muddy boots and carried me back to the house.  Then, he went back outside, pulled those overshoes out of the mud, and hosed them off.

Later, Dad wanted to know one thing:  why didn't I just step out of those boots and walk back to the house in my bare feet?  Honestly, that thought had never occurred to me.  Perhaps I was afraid that my feet would get just as stuck as the boots, or maybe I simply couldn't bear to get mud all over my feet.  Realistically, the thought of walking through all that mud in my bare feet was so unfathomable that the thought never even crossed my mind.   To me, the rule was clear:  I must never walk outside in the rain and mud unless I was wearing overshoes!  So I never considered any other options.  Besides, I knew that if I waited long enough, Dad would rescue me.  That's what dads do.

God is like that, too.  When we get caught in the muck of our sins, and call out to God for help, He comes to our rescue, not just once, but over and over again.  When we reach out to Him, He pulls us out of the messes we find ourselves in, offering forgiveness and unconditional love.  Just as Dad washed all the mud off my boots, Jesus has washed away all the dirt and grime that we call sin.  We may have to live with the natural consequences of our behavior, but we can be assured that God is always close by, waiting for us to call out to Him.  We don't even have to wait until things go wrong.  He's always there.


I waited patiently for the Lord to help me, and he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire.
He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.
Psalm 40:1-2

Comments

  1. Great story, Janet - and nice object lesson. In a situation like this of course, I was the one who would come home covered in mud from head to toe!

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