the death of a mouse

For the last three weeks, my room has smelled somewhat questionably odious. Somewhat like a combination of wet sneakers and dried blood and dirty animal fur, with a few rotten eggs thrown in for good measure. It reeked.

And last night, I discovered the source of the rank odor.

See, I had lost an earplug, so I was reaching down behind my bed (between the bed and the wall) where it is very dark and dusty, to attempt to find said earplug. Since I could not see particularly well, I was running my hand along the floor board, navigating by feel... [note to self: bad idea].

And then, my hand touched something soft and somewhat squishy. Life-like, if you will. Except very much not so.

After briefly succumbing to my weak stomach and hatred for all things small and dead that involuntarily leads to screaming ever so quickly, but oh so girlishly, I pulled out my cell phone light to investigate the soft small form of my formerly furry friend, Rasputin. Yes, in fact dead and now three weeks into the decomposition process under my bed. Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust. Or in this case, entrails now leaving the body and mingling with the dust on my floor. Rest in peace, Rasputin. Please take your insides with you next time. Yuck.

G.R.O.S.S.

But as I reflected upon this, I was struck again by how something so small which is dead and rotten, can pollute such a large space with such a large odor, yet remain so hidden, until you dig down into the dark and dusty places.

And from that, how like our sin this is... we know that something smells, we can see the ways in which it permeates our lives and relationships in not-so-delightful ways, but we often miss the root of it, because it is so deeply hidden in dark and dusty places. Or, worse, we become so accustomed to the stench, that we cease looking for the source and we don't even notice the odor, unless someone else happens to smell it or point it out.

And that, in a nutshell, is one of the reasons that we're called to be in community. Because God is more concerned with our holiness than our contentedness or happiness. He doesn't want us to settle into a comfortable place amidst the stench. He laments when we begin to think that the smell of death is "normal" and "okay." We need other people in our lives who can smell the stench clearly and are willing to root around with us, into the dusty and dark places, to pull out the decaying and rotting goop of mouse entrails and sin.

Someone who walks into the room and says, "Man, that wreaks! Smells like something died in here. You should do something about that" is observationally helpful, but beyond that, just kind of annoying. And more of a critic than a friend.

But a real friend, who smells the stench, and is willing to root around in the dark and dusty places with you, who is fighting with you against that sin, that stench, that death- that, friends, is a needed, desired, and beloved community.

May we become more like that.

And may I never have to touch another dead mouse ever again. Please God.