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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Illustrate the meaning of "It's No Use Crying over Spilt Milk" (without using the actual phrase or literal exampl (02/07/08)

By Cherie Millsap


I remember it all so clearly now….

It was as typical a morning as possible with two little toddlers in the house. I was fixing them their normal gourmet milk and cereal breakfast. I turned my back to reach for something and my precious 2 ˝ year old, who wanted so much to be a big boy, decided to pour the milk from the very large gallon jug all by his little self.

As the writer of this story, I could ply you with dramatic words, like torrents, milk streams of living water, and the like. But the short of it is a child, with more than a milk mustache, and a kitchen carpet testing its absorption quality, on a large scale. (I will take a moment to pause and mention that milk on a carpet, is a young mother’s nightmare.) I stood there with all of this flashing quickly through my jaw gaping, fury brewing mind, as I was winding up in a tornado of emotions. I was gearing up to explode, and unleash this deluge on my 2 ˝ year old toddler, who also was engaged in his own struggle to try to figure out what had gone wrong.

With hands knotting into fists, and eyes blazing lightning bolts, I am overtaken by the impending storm, which was quickly welling up into hurricane force. Then out of the corner of my eye, I just happen to see out the window, a person getting ready to knock on my door. It was my pastor…

In an amazing miraculous flash, the storm instantly ceased, and I contained the wild animal within me. I turned from my relieved, God believing, milk sodden toddler and went to the door. In just a few steps, I quickly donned my saintly garments, and was suddenly transformed into all holiness, as I greeted my pastor.

“Did I come at a bad time?” He asked. “Understatement!” screamed my mind, but was held at bay, by a force to be considered at length, later. He stayed and visited with me, while I mopped up the milk to the best of my ability, knowing it would soon be the source of an irreparably sour smell, which would cause my house to smell like a neglected dairy. But visiting with my pastor, I had all the earmarks of sainthood. Everyone would have marveled at my self-control, and commented on my righteousness.

But it affected me. Which one is the real me? Am I the ranting out of my mind person that I’d occasionally unleash on my family, or the one who could smile without a care in the world? I reflected on my ability to turn off my rage in the presence of my pastor. Why do I, with the ones I love the most, treat them the worse?

I desperately needed to tame the savage beast within me, but knew I needed God’s help! Soon God turned the light on and I received an answer that would change me. I had a God breathed revelation. What I needed was the presence of someone to keep me in check. Just like my pastor was the source for my sudden ability for self-control, so was God’s presence in my life, what I needed to find reliable self-control that is Holy Spirit aided.

In order to produce the fruit of self-control, I needed the blooming of His presence in my life! I needed presence of mind. My mind, His presence! I finally found the key to finding the self-control I need. It was a process, but soon instead of sour milk, I began to smell the aroma of intimacy with God. Flowers that would soon give birth to fruit!

“Irresponsible talk makes a real mess of things, but a reliable reporter is a healing presence.” Prov. 13:17

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This article has been read 569 times
Member Comments
Member Date
Nancy Quinn02/15/08
I loved this story - entertaining and great lessons. Keep writing! God bless, :)
Marlene Austin02/15/08
Good intraspective study. :)
Yvonne Blake 02/15/08
Good Description...I could see it! I can feel how embarressed the mother felt when she answered the door!
Try to think of another story that relates the same meaning of the topic in your next story.
Keep writing.