The Shrimp Resurrection

Published on 9 June 2025 at 17:12

I never thought the play kitchen could hold such dark secrets...until today. #HolyHotMessSundays

Yall.

Today's blog devotional is brought to you by the letter S -- for Shrimp, Sanctification, and Sweet baby Jesus, take the wheel.

So, I'm minding my business. Just trying to survive another toddler-led episode of "Mommy, look at this!" (which could mean anything from a crayon masterpiece to a chunk of drywall he removed with his bare hands). Today, he was playing sweetly with his toy kitchen -- whipping up his usual wooden veggie stew, fake smoothies, and one invisible who knows what, he keeps in his "pocket."

Then came the moment.
He toddles over proudly and says,

| "Look at this, Mommy!"

I brace myself.

 

He hands me a small container with a lid. Now, the mature part of me wants to encourage pretend play and imagination. But the part of me that's been jump-scared by sippy cups with mystery milk is already saying silent prayers.

I open the lid.

 

It looks like Cookies & Cream ice cream.
Except... it's not cold.
And plot twist: WE DON'T OWN COOKIES & CREAM ICE CREAM.

 

That's when I got suspicious. I squint. I sniff (why did I sniff?!). My eyes start to water.
I look at him and ask,

| "Baby... what is this?"

And this child -- my tiny angel sent from the Lord to test my spiritual maturity -- lowers his eyes, gives the slightest smirk, and softly says:

| "My shrimp."
 ..........

I'm sorry -- YOUR WHAT NOW??!

THE SHRIMP, y'all.

The shrimp I deep-fried THREE AND A HALF WEEKS AGO.
The shrimp we all enjoyed and moved on with our lives.
The shrimp that should be repenting in a landfill by now.

 

Apparently, my son had taken a leftover shrimp -- in secret -- and saved it. Like a little seafood squirrel storing for the apocalypse.

Except instead of a hole in a tree, he chose a toy Tupperware container. And instead of tossing it out the next day like a sane person, he tucked it lovingly into his fake oven like it was The Body of Christ.

Let me tell you something:
I HAVE NEVER PRAYED HARDER.
Because nothing, and I mean NOTHING, tests your faith like making direct eye contact with a decomposing crustacean that your child calls his "special snack."


You ever try to parent through gagging? Through the sheer trauma of the smell? While your kid is still standing there like he's about to win Top Chef: Plague Edition?


I rebuked mold, shrimp spirits, and the temptation to give up on parenting entirely.

But here's the thing:

As I stood there, holding that horror-tub of fuzzy shrimp and reevaluating all of my life choices, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper:

 

| "I've seen worse, and I still love you."


Because y'all, sometimes we hand God the spiritual version of a three-week-old shrimp and go:


| "Look! Aren't you proud?"


And He doesn't flinch.
He doesn't gag.
He doesn't say "Get this moldy mess away from me."

He just says:

 

| "Let's clean this up, kid. I've got better for you."

 

So yeah. I nearly lost my soul to a shrimp today.
But I didn't lose my joy.
Or my sense of humor.
Or the reminder that Jesus is still in the business of meeting us in the messiest of places.


Even fake kitchens.
Even fuzz-covered sins.
Even shrimp that should've been buried with full honors weeks ago.

P.S. (with love)

Let me tell you something that I will never forget: THE SMELL.

Not just a little "oh this is questionable" stank. No.

 
This was Biblical. This was Old Testament Plague Level unholy funk. The kind of smell that hits your nose, sucker-punches your dignity, and makes your eyelashes curl backwards.

It was like:
  • A shrimp's spirit gave up and ascended weeks ago...
  • But its body stayed behind in protest.
  • and then had a family reunion in that container.

I nearly fell out in the name of Jesus. My toddler's over there smiling like he just served me gourmet cuisine while I'm experiencing a full-body spiritual evacuation.

#HolyHotMessSundays #ShrimpGate2025 #IAmNotOkayButHeIsStillGod #GraceForSeafoodAndSinners #JesusTakeTheTupperware

 

 

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