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
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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 ½ 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 ½ 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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