Out Of The Mud and Mire

Some stories need to be told.
This is one of them.
This is an "oh no, I'm laughing so hard I just peed-my-pants-a-little" kind of an incident.  I've had my share of those.  Funny.  Not fun.


We'll start with the end in sight. 

Anyone who thinks they could walk a day in my shoes didn't try walking half a mile in these "shoes".


But let me rewind, set the stage if you will.
The rain in these parts has been relentless.  It has rained twenty of the past thirty days.  Noah enthusiasts were beginning to think they missed the boat.  Harold Camping followers thought they were left behind.  Rain, rain and more rain.


So last Monday when the sun dared show itself for a few hours we jumped at the chance to be outdoors and decided to grab my mom and head for the hills.  


Our local ski hill has just complete building a new ski hill (yes, my mountain loving friends, we live in a flat land that necessitates building our own mountains).  Ten years of construction landfill has gone in to making this mountain.  Landfill covered by two feet of dirt, soon to be covered by grass, and in winter months covered with snow.


On with the story.  
In fast forward now, to get to the good parts.
Hike, hike, hike.
Woods, woods, woods.
Hills, trees, grass.


Ta-da ... the new mountain.
"Can we climb it, ma?  Can we? Can we?"
"Sure.  Why not?  No signs say we can't.  What's a little dirt? Go for it."


Scramble up to the top.  
Kids ahead.  
"I'm the king of the castle, you're the dirty rascal!"
Me and my mom dawdling behind, chatting as we go.
I'm ok with being the dirty rascal.  It's just a nice walk in the woods on a sunny day.
And the site from the top, exhilarating.  From the top of this landfill heap you can look in 360 degrees and see the entire city of London.  Ahh ...


As I turn I see the kids heading to the other side of the mountain.  Makes me want to sing, "the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, to see what he could see".  But more than just "the other side of the mountain" I saw ponds.  Muddy, mucky ponds left from the deluges of rain.


And then my famous last words as I saw my three children leap like billy goats down the mountain, 
"I guarantee you that Karis will lose a shoe in that mud."


My mom and I tentatively make our way down.
And then I see what appears to be a short cut.
I turn to my mom, "Hey, follow me.  I think this is easier."


Hop, skip, jump ....
How about a little hokey-pokey while I'm at it?
I put my right foot in, but alas I could not put my right foot out.
I put my left foot in, but again, no left foot out.


Everything proceeds in S-L-O-W motion, like time is slowing down so I can enjoy this moment.
I'm sinking.
Serious quick sand.  The real deal.  Indiana Jones quality quick sand.
I panic and pull on my right foot.  
I hear a literal "slurp" as it releases. 
My foot comes out, my shoe is "left behind".
And without thinking I plop my right foot in front of my left.  In it goes.  In it stays.


Panic sets in.
I'm stuck.
Shoeless and sinking.


I look over the hills and see dark clouds.  And no joke, we hear thunder.


Nervous laughter.
Kids scrambling back up the hill, a little fear in their eyes.  
And by this time I've sunk to my knees.


Nervous laughter turns to hysterical laughter.  Serious, side splitting laughter.  Laughing so hard I was afraid I'd fall over and both arms would be stuck as well. 
I collect myself enough to realize that the only way out was if I pulled myself out.  No one else was able to get me out of this mess.  I literally needed to pull myself up by the bootstraps and get out of the quicksand.
Deep breath and hefty heave-ho - and I was out.


On top of the mountain. 
A muddy mess.
One shoe on and one shoe off.  (Diddle diddle dumpling my son John!  Sorry, got nursery rhymes on the brain).
Thunder on the horizon. 
Me, my mom, three kids and a long walk through the woods to get home.


My first thought was to rescue the shoe.
We sent the lightest of the crew to attempt the rescue.
He was very serious about the job.  He took a flying leap over the mud, laid down prostrate, dug and dug  until he felt the shoe.
But as hard as he tried it was useless.  The shoe was two feet deep and full of mud.  Too heavy pull out.


The dark clouds were getting closer.
So onward and outward it was.  
A little worse for the wear we headed out.


A dozen or so steps down the path I knew that the thin sock on rocks wasn't going to cut it for the walk home.  
So we did what any child of the 80's would do, we thought:
WWMD?
What Would Macgyver Do?
Quick inventory of our supplies revealed a plastic water bottle and a hair tie.
And there you have it my friends, a shoe.

It was a humble walk home.
I ate my words, I was the one who lost the shoe.  
I was the careless one.  Not my dear Karis.
We laughed the whole way.  
We lamented the fact that we were phone-less and camera-less.  Only memories and words to recall the events.  
We talked about Toms, and kids who have no shoes.  
And we got home within minutes of the clouds bursting.

There is no moral to this story.
It's just a story.
But I am reminded of Psalm 40:2,
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
And I'm thankful for two shoes and a firm place to stand.