March 1, 2000
DOWN HOME:
Maybe Baptist teenagers should only take baths
___Teenhood has visited upon our household a chilling malady that was incomprehensible just a few short years ago.
___That, as countless parents of teenagers already may have guessed, is the--quite literally--breathtaking specter of enduring a shower approximately the temperature of iceberg-infested water off the coast of Newfoundland.
MARV KNOX
Editor
___This isn't a problem most mornings. Monday through Friday, I'm usually up and out the door before Lindsay, 16, and Molly, 13, set foot in a shower. I arise 30 minutes before Joanna, whose age is none of your business, gets up.
___So, weekday morning showers are perfect. The early riser--that's me-- gets a steaming-hot shower. And since my water consumption is paltry compared to the aquifer-draining cleansing of a teenager, Joanna has plenty of water when she hops in the shower about the time I'm coaxing the coffeemaker to a nice wake-up perk.
___Theoretically (But what do I know? I'm on my way to work by then.), the hot water heater has replenished itself by the time the girls celebrate their morning hygiene rituals.
___Saturday is no big deal, since everybody showers on erratic schedules largely dictated by chores (in my case) and wake-up schedules (in the girls' cases).
___But Sunday. Oh, Sunday. Let's put it this way: After we all get showers at approximately the same time on Sunday morning, somebody needs to go to church. Because somebody needs to repent for the things she or he was thinking as she or he knocked the soap-suds icicles off her or his shivering-yet-clean body. I've thought about taking my shampoo and terry-cloth robe to the church house and seeing if the baptistry were available.
___Just a few years ago, we didn't have this problem. The girls thought baths were cruel and unusual punishment. And the concept of washing their hair was as strange as the notion that one day they might enjoy eating broccoli. No way.
___Those were the good ol' days. We begged. We pleaded. We threatened. All to get them to clean their slimy little bodies. Then they started caring what they looked and smelled like. And then they decided a nice, hot shower was the only thing that made waking up in the morning worthwhile.
___I've had stinky preschoolers. And I've had cold showers. I'll take stinky preschoolers.
___But on Sunday mornings, along with praying the girls will leave me enough warm water, I pray the Lord will bless us all with spiritual showers--deep, soul-cleansing showers that prepare us to live clean, Christ-honoring lives and that enable us to give off a spiritual aroma that's pleasing to God.
Send this story to a friend
Contents/ Masthead / Why We're Here / Links / Archive / E-mail us/ SUBSCRIBE!
