Buzzard Barf

Today, a buzzard threw up on my car. I tried and tried to come up with a better way to open this article. A gentler, more delicate way to tell you what happened. But how does one describe buzzard barf in a pretty way? It is what it is. And it stinks. More about the smell in a minute. First, I have to say, I try to be a good person. I try to live an upright, holy life. I try to honor God in all I do and say. I’m far from perfect, but I try. I really do. So why do these things happen to me? Why, I ask you. Not three days ago, I was attacked by a vicious rodent (which I will write about next week) and now this. I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong. I picked the boy child up from school, brought him home, fed him some dinner, and loaded him back up to go to Wednesday night church. We weren’t five minutes from the house when we approached a buzzard, enjoying a dinner of dead whok-nows-what. He was on the other side of the road, though, so I didn’t pay much attention. As we grew nearer, the buzzard began flapping his wings like he’d fly off. But instead of flying away from my car, he flew towards it. I bumped him just a little bit before I stepped on the brakes. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to make him toss his newly digested gopher guts all over my grill, my hood, my windshield, even my roof. I gotta say . . . I now have a pretty good idea what the down-under must be like. You don’t get much closer to hell than that. But I did get closer, with each breath I took. Since he left his insides on my grill, and the vent piped that so-called fresh air in through the air conditioner . . . I might as well have been wallowing in his intestines. It was the most disgusting scent I could have imagined. No, that’s not true. Even in my wildest imaginings, I couldn’t have concocted such a vicious odor. As luck or Providence would have it, the next stoplight I came to, my son looked across the intersection and pointed out a green truck. Superman! He was headed home from a late job. I called him (thank God for cell phones) and told him what happened. In a nutshell (or a toilet bowl), the Sman followed us to church, where we dropped boy-child off, then followed me to the carwash. Within ten minutes, all evidence of the wretched, underworld-inspired buzzard puke was gone. He even lifted the hood and washed out the engine. I’ve asked God to please show me the spiritual application for deadanimal upchuck. I’m still waiting to hear back from Him. I think that must be what sin does to us. It covers us with its nastiness, and before long, everything about our lives stinks to high Hades. But if we call on God, and allow Him to have His way, He washes us clean. But sometimes we get puked on, and it’s not a result of our own poor choices. Sometimes bad things happen to innocent people, and without warning, we’re covered in rotted road kill. I’ve found it doesn’t matter whether my messes are my fault or not; I can always call on God, and He will always, always come to my rescue. He’ll wash me clean and give me a new start, just like Superman did. But from now on, when I see a buzzard in the road, I’m gonna come to a complete stop and honk my horn.

 

“Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them as white as snow. Though they are red like crimson, I will make them as white as wool,” Isaiah 1:18 NLT.