backyard human nature

my backyard is a picture of our humanness.

It’s a sweet little yard – fencing around the perimeter, a few crepe myrtles, and red-doored tool-shed. I moved into my house on Saturday, 1/31. When Sarah and I got to the house, I gave her a tour and we ended in the yard, then trounced through the house to the front drive to unload the U Haul.

That is where I realized I was covered in FLEAS – little jumping, biting fleas. And so was Sarah. We freaked out.

Our little walk through the house had been just enough to deposit an annoying amount of the little pests inside my new home. So, I vowed to avoid the seemingly-pretty-actually-grotesque backyard until I could treat it.

Fast-forward to Tuesday.

I get running water in said new home and am thrilled. I don’t go crazy, but I use some of this new found luxury.

As I am in bed reading, my neighbor comes over and says my house smells (reminder: I don’t have a sense of smell) and he’s worried something might be wrong. I go in the backyard – the same flea-infested hell hole of my nightmares from Saturday – to find SEWAGE backed up, flooding the place.

Sure enough, this is what I wake up like everyday as a human – seemingly nice & normal to look at, but infested and overflowing with sin.