A Poem goin' out to the babies

We have had the blessing of two babies to join us at church the last couple of months: Duncan and Caroline.

Here's a little poem that I'd like to dedicate to them and their families:

On Poop (Mine and Not)

by Dan Trabue

It is amazing to me the

difference between what belongs to me

and mine and not.

As someone who works with children -

children who sometimes poop -

and as someone who is a daddy to children -

children who sometimes poop -

I can tell you with some authority that the

yuck-factor of the feel and smell of

warm brown poop needing to be cleaned

from underwear and over there

is directly related to the love you have for

the child.

I have cleaned and breathed the aroma of my

children's aforementioned unmentionables

with a certain amount of fun and laughter and

slightly grossed out joy and

it was, if not desired, at least okay.

I have also cleaned and gagged upon the

aroma of some other children's

bottom line and it was never

okay.

That tells me that the degree of the

awfulness of the smell

of the poop

is in inverse proportion to the degree of

love for the child,

and it seems to me that my effectiveness with

and impact upon

the children I work with

(as well as my own)

depends largely on how well I can

love them.

That having been said, let me issue

a disclaimer:

Vomit is never okay.