It was Friday afternoon and we’d been at it for just over a week now. Basically, that made us pro’s. It’s kind of a thing in this World Race culture…do a job for a day, you’re pretty good. Do a job for a week and you’ve got a newfound career when you go home.
We were pig farmer’s, didn’t you know?
Alyson (my squadmate) and I spent our days herding pigs out of their pens, rushing in amidst the poop, pee, and pig slop, and applying a thick coat of lime wash to the walls. Our task? To make the pig pens look sparkly white.
Ha, what a joke.
Please tell me if you’ve ever seen a clean pig pen.
Needless to say, we were doing our best. But I mean, you can only do so much when you just brush the lime wash onto the walls, leaving all the poop and grime. But hey, they at least looked better.
Anyway, back to Friday. We were back at it when we came upon a stall with a mamma and her babies. The real farmer had told us to only heard the mom out and leave all the little piglets inside. It made our lives so much easier. And we’d done this same thing just the day before.
We herded mom out and rushed into the pen and got to work with military precision.
And that’s when crap hit the fan.
Well, I guess there aren’t really fans on a pig farm, but if there were, they’d be covered.
I mean, for goodness sake’s, I was covered in it.
We ducked into the tiny doorway to head into the back area of the pen and the little piggies started squealing.
And mamma got mad.
Real mad.
She started pacing outside the door as Alyson and I started painting faster and faster and faster. Another girl, Heather was in charge of painting the doors in the pig pens black, and she was on her game, holding the door shut tight as she did so, successfully locking us in and the mother pig out.
And somehow, through this pacing process, mamma pig forgot something. (I guess there’s a reason the phrase is “elephants never forget.”)
She forgot something very important.
She forgot which stall was hers.
And in all her anger she decided that she needed to rush in and save her babies from these three treacherous, brush-wielding villains.
Only…she went for the wrong stall.
And she jumped the gate. Jumped the gate. YES PEOPLE, JUMPED THE GATE! However, being all bacon filled and such, she didn’t quite make it over. Instead she just teeter-tottered back and forth and finally slid back down. (One of the funniest sights my eyes have seen, just for the record.) Which just ticked her off even more. And apparently that little slide back down the door brought back mamma pig’s memory.
And so she came for us.
Thank the Lord he made us all quick. We were quick to finish painting, as throughout the gate jumping, teeter-tottering, Alyson and I had finished painting the pen and Heather the door. We were quick to realize what was going on. And we were quick to get out. The three of us girls hopped the wall of the pen as Jason, our expert pig herder swung the door open and ushered Mom back in. Alyson, Heather, and I ran out of the neighboring stall before those pigs noticed and we all breathed a big sigh of relief.
Just a day in the life.
This ridiculous life we live as pig farmers (or babysitters, lice picker-outers, worship leaders, preachers, grocery shoppers, etc) becomes kind of normal on The Race. But rather than this day being just another day it was also a wonderful reminder of the redemptive blood of Jesus. You and me, we look a whole awful lot like the pig sty; dirty, filthy, disgusting, covered in crap. But thank the good Lord Jesus that He wants us to be sparkly white. And rather than just trying to slop some lime wash on the walls of our hearts like Alyson and I did to the pig stalls, Jesus chose to wash away all the grime first, so that we don’t just look a little cleaner for the time being but we actually are clean in the eyes of our Father.
