One thing I know the Lord hates is self-pity. A heart of gratitude, of thankfulness, He loves.
I woke up today to an ugly reality. Within minutes, all my gratitude came to a standstill. I admit to wailing--yes literally wailing--in self-pity.
Did my house built on stilts over polluted waters collapse or something?
Did I wake up on the wrong side of my filthy cardboard bed, spread out on my rotting wood floor?
Did the pieces of wood that lifted me off my wet, slimey floor, covered in trash, drift away or something?
No.
I discovered that my 61-year-old three-bedroom house, complete with a large playroom and large dining room.......
......had at least one mouse in it.
That's all it took to send me into an ugly, pity-party spiral.
After reading more Compassion Philippine posts, I burned with shame.
How dare I have a pity party over a mouse?
How dare I, when mothers in third-world countries don't hug their babies the first year, nor look them in the eye, for fear the baby will die of a preventable disease before the age of one. The mothers don't want to deal with the heartbreak of losing a baby they've fully loved.
How dare I?
A little background...
In the last two weeks my husband has spotted, three times, what he thought was a small black mole. We haven't seen one in at least two years, since he took care of some tiny holes in the laundry area.
Puzzled at this return, we watched carefully for an opportunity to catch it and send it packing. They're fast little buggers.
Last night, as I emerged from Beth's room for the second time, I found husband fast on the trail of our "mole", which had escaped under an Armour in the living room. The tiny black thing pulled a fast one.
Husband missed him again.
Meanwhile, I'm screaming, thinking the thing is surely going to run right over my feet in his escape.
Real quick like, I jumped onto the couch, while husband got an empty container and set it down on the floor at the back of the bookshelf, waiting for our "mole" to reemerge.
Bingo! Got 'em.
I rejoiced!
"That's no mole", my husband said (rather casually, I might add). "Looks like a deer mouse."
Oh! How my countenance fell!
Then it fell even lower, when the mouse jumped out of the 30-inch-high container!
Beth then woke up (maybe I shouldn't scream at night?). I was forced to go back to the bedroom and nurse her allergy-miserable self, once again.
It must have taken me an hour to fall asleep later. I had the eebie geebies.
Upon waking the next morning, I Googled how to get rid of a mouse.
What I learned, folks, sent me into the wailing self-pity mode I spoke of earlier.
These facts alone--not the whole exhaustive, scary list--were enough to send me off the deep end.
I suspect Peter's bird feeders, which are apparently too close to the foundation of the house, attracted mice. Mice like seed best, and their second favorite food is grain. Peter has been throwing the crust of his siblings' sandwiches out the window for the birds, for some time now.
If you have holes in your foundation measuring larger than a pencil eraser, a mouse can gain entry.
When husband found mice in the shed awhile back, we should have set traps right away. Those were the first mice seen on the property in the six years we've lived here. I had no idea, and husband didn't either, what we were up against. We just thought they were a cute little mouse family....or something stupid like that.
Naive.
I prayed countless times today, and during my structured prayer time as well, "Lord, let it be just this one."
Five traps have been set. I cleaned furiously all day, making sure every cupboard and floor was spotless--thereby giving the mouse nothing to forage on at night. They're nocturnal little buggers.
If nothing turns up in the traps in the next few days, we'll call an exterminator. I'll eat nothing but beans for a week if I have to, to afford an exterminator.
Here is an excerpt from Stephanie's post, from Keeper of the Home:
I woke up today to an ugly reality. Within minutes, all my gratitude came to a standstill. I admit to wailing--yes literally wailing--in self-pity.
Did my house built on stilts over polluted waters collapse or something?
Did I wake up on the wrong side of my filthy cardboard bed, spread out on my rotting wood floor?
Did the pieces of wood that lifted me off my wet, slimey floor, covered in trash, drift away or something?
No.
I discovered that my 61-year-old three-bedroom house, complete with a large playroom and large dining room.......
......had at least one mouse in it.
That's all it took to send me into an ugly, pity-party spiral.
After reading more Compassion Philippine posts, I burned with shame.
How dare I have a pity party over a mouse?
How dare I, when mothers in third-world countries don't hug their babies the first year, nor look them in the eye, for fear the baby will die of a preventable disease before the age of one. The mothers don't want to deal with the heartbreak of losing a baby they've fully loved.
How dare I?
A little background...
In the last two weeks my husband has spotted, three times, what he thought was a small black mole. We haven't seen one in at least two years, since he took care of some tiny holes in the laundry area.
Puzzled at this return, we watched carefully for an opportunity to catch it and send it packing. They're fast little buggers.
Last night, as I emerged from Beth's room for the second time, I found husband fast on the trail of our "mole", which had escaped under an Armour in the living room. The tiny black thing pulled a fast one.
Husband missed him again.
Meanwhile, I'm screaming, thinking the thing is surely going to run right over my feet in his escape.
Real quick like, I jumped onto the couch, while husband got an empty container and set it down on the floor at the back of the bookshelf, waiting for our "mole" to reemerge.
Bingo! Got 'em.
I rejoiced!
"That's no mole", my husband said (rather casually, I might add). "Looks like a deer mouse."
Oh! How my countenance fell!
Then it fell even lower, when the mouse jumped out of the 30-inch-high container!
Beth then woke up (maybe I shouldn't scream at night?). I was forced to go back to the bedroom and nurse her allergy-miserable self, once again.
It must have taken me an hour to fall asleep later. I had the eebie geebies.
Upon waking the next morning, I Googled how to get rid of a mouse.
What I learned, folks, sent me into the wailing self-pity mode I spoke of earlier.
- One Momma and Poppa mouse pair can have up to 80 babies a year.- Mice can jump 12 inches if standing, and 38 inches with a running start.- Mice carry dangerous germs, including salmonella and typhus.- If you see one little mouse, there's likely to be an extended family around as well.- Mice can damage electrical wiring, causing a fire hazard.
These facts alone--not the whole exhaustive, scary list--were enough to send me off the deep end.
I suspect Peter's bird feeders, which are apparently too close to the foundation of the house, attracted mice. Mice like seed best, and their second favorite food is grain. Peter has been throwing the crust of his siblings' sandwiches out the window for the birds, for some time now.
If you have holes in your foundation measuring larger than a pencil eraser, a mouse can gain entry.
When husband found mice in the shed awhile back, we should have set traps right away. Those were the first mice seen on the property in the six years we've lived here. I had no idea, and husband didn't either, what we were up against. We just thought they were a cute little mouse family....or something stupid like that.
Naive.
I prayed countless times today, and during my structured prayer time as well, "Lord, let it be just this one."
Five traps have been set. I cleaned furiously all day, making sure every cupboard and floor was spotless--thereby giving the mouse nothing to forage on at night. They're nocturnal little buggers.
If nothing turns up in the traps in the next few days, we'll call an exterminator. I'll eat nothing but beans for a week if I have to, to afford an exterminator.
Here is an excerpt from Stephanie's post, from Keeper of the Home:
It struck me today that the churches here in the Philippines are comprised of the very people in poverty whom they are seeking to reach. It's not just the well-to-do that serve those living in poverty, but the ones in poverty are serving others just like themselves. I have not seen a speck of self pity in this place.
Yet, I see it in myself.
Today was my 5th day in a row of running on very little sleep and I was feeling ragged. I worried how I would get through the day, with the hours of bus travel, the activity and the energy poured into visits, the stifling heat, and then still find the energy to blog coherent thoughts this evening. In other words, I was feeling sorry for myself.
Stephanie, with blunt honesty, describes the kind of poverty we suffer from in first-world countries.
Discontent.
Ungratefulness.
It's as though we can never get enough. We enjoy luxury, good healthcare, excellent sanitation, and yet we find things to complain about.....at least once a day.
Thank you for my mouse, Lord.
Thank you for perspective.
