OF SOILED CLOTHES AND SOILED HEARTS

Flashback: It's Summer, 1977, and I'm about 11 years old. I'm playing in my grandparents' yard in east Tennessee with three of my younger cousins: Stephen, Cheri, and Paul. We've all grown bored with "hide-and-seek" and are looking to do something a little more adventurous. Spotting a 4-foot high mound of dirt, which my grandfather uses for landscaping, I shout, "Let's take turns sliding down the dirt!" The four of us scramble to form a line on the back side of the mound. I bring up the rear, because I don't want to soil my clothes, unless the adventure seems to be worth it.

My cousins slide down, one at a time, and seem to be having a jolly good time. Just as I climb to the top of the mound to take my turn, my grandmother's voice comes shrieking from the 2nd-story bedroom window overlooking our "slide": "Hey! You kids stop that right now! You march right upstairs and wait for me outside the bathroom!" Uh-oh.........the "bathroom..........." At this point, the four of us know that the jig is up, and we are doomed. We slowly trudge up the flight of stairs from the basement, sensing our impending punishment. I'm thinking, "But I didn't even get to slide!" My grandmother appears at the top of the stairs, and promptly begins her lecture: "You should be ashamed of yourselves--playing in the dirt, ruining your clothes! Now your poor mothers will have to wash those filthy clothes. Line up right here..........you're going to be punished."

So, one at a time, we bravely take our turns getting spanked--with a switch, so I guess we were actually thrashed. (Unfortunately, I do get to take my turn at this activity). Obstinate creatures we were, we tried to pretend that it didn't hurt us, so she lined us up a second time, and repeated her correction.

Fast forward: It's 2005--28 years after the "dirt mound" incident. My grandmother is no longer with us; I'm certain that she's in heaven, maybe even helping the angels keep their robes clean and white. Though I never got to experience the "fun" of sliding down that old mound of dirt, my grandmother knew my motives. She knew my intent, and she knew my heart--just like our Heavenly Father does. If we hadn't gotten caught, I would have slid and gotten dirty myself.

We so easily fall into the seasonal folly of sin, and come out with our spiritual clothes dirty and in need of a Holy laundering, don't we? Sure, it's fun at the time, but look how soiled and dirty we become. And, how often we find ourselves doing yet another load of spiritual dirty laundry on our knees in repentance.

With fondness, I now remember the lesson I learned that day. Oh, the second spanking hurt, but the pain has long been forgotten, although the lesson lingers. Beware the folly that taints your heart. By the way, never again have I even considered sliding down a mound of dirt. (I'm a grown-up now, and would look pretty silly participating in such activities. [Besides, these days, my 70+year old mother would most likely tell me to go wash my own playclothes!])