When I was a boy, we lived in a rural part of Alabama. We had a creek behind our home and it had countless joys for young boys in it: crawdads (crawfish), cool rocks, snakes, water and mud – lot’s of mud. We spent a many a summer day in that creek and in the evening, as we were being called in for dinner a common scene took place:

Rob approaches the sliding-glass door at the rear of the house bearing the filthy joy of creek-playing hedonism

Dad: “Stop right there! You are not setting foot in this house until you clean up.”

Rob starts to attempt wiping off the mud – only there is mud on his hands and on every part of his body. Only smearing and deeper staining is occurring.

Dad: furrowed-brow looks

Rob: “This isn’t working.”

What Rob needs is an outside source – something clean that can take the filth from him. Rob needs a clean towel and his brother to spray him with a water hose. Without a clean source to take the stains away, there is no hope.

Truly on this side of the analogy AND the sliding glass doors, the fried chicken has never tasted so good.

Thank you, Jesus.