January 7: Outside His Yard, Manure Piles, Forgiveness Prayer

Wilbur walked up to the fence and saw that the goose was right--one board was loose.  He put his head down, shut his eyes, and pushed.  The board gave way.  In a minute he had squeezed through the fence and was standing in the long grass outside his yard.  The goose chuckled.

At first, Wilbur enjoyed the freedom of his escape from his yard on Zuckerman's farm.  But he soon learns that with his new-found freedom comes new-found responsibility.  He has choices to make.  Root in the garden or run for the forest or head for the apple orchard.  He's no longer confined to his familiar world of manure pile, feed trough, and hay.


I'm not the kind of person who enjoys the freedom of escape.  I wouldn't push on the loose board to get out of my yard.  I like my yard.  I like the familiar, even if the familiar is full of manure, if you catch my drift.

I currently find myself on the outside of my yard, in the long grass.  I went to the local newspaper office this afternoon and placed an ad.  Basically the ad went something like this:

Church pipe organist/keyboardist/pianist with 25+ yrs. of experience looking for new manure pile to call home.

I'm not happy to be in the long grass right now, but here I stand.  And I find myself having a difficult time forgiving the people responsible for putting me in this position.  I'm holding on to all this resentment, and it's making it hard for me to let go of the past.  If I can't let go of the past, I won't be able to step into the future.

So, this evening, I'm praying for forgiveness to enter my heart.

Dear Lord of all manure piles,

You already know about the fist I'm carrying around in my chest.  I want to use that fist to hurt someone, and I know that's wrong.  But I've gotten used to that fist over the last three months.  Used to its pressure.  Its weight.

But I know I need to open up that fist.  Let go of all the hurt and pain.  I'm struggling to find peace at this moment, and I can't do that until I stop clinging to all the manure from my old yard.

So, please, God, help me to find my way to a better pile of manure.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

This looks like a nice pile of crap