Careful For The Splash

Ever carry around a bucket full of water. One of those five gallon buckets you know? Dad would always have me grab a bucket when we'd go fishing, "Always bring a bucket Jeff." He would say as we were loading the poles. Yeah, one of those buckets, handy for carrying just about anything from your lunch to your catch for the day to paint to turning it upside down - which makes for a handy seat (that's the real reason dad always wanted the bucket loaded).
OK, you following me with just what kind of bucket? Well, if not just imagine a pale or something with a handle. Now think back to a time when you had that bucket (or pale) loaded with water and you had to get somewhere. Enevitablely that water would seem to splash out, some getting on your pants, your shirt and in the worst case your shoes.
Still with me. Now let me tell you a story. I was on leave from the Marines. I had my dress blues on, looking sharp as they come: fresh haircut, clean shave, sharp creases and a smile because I was headed home. Problem was my ride hit the airport in Reno at 2:30 in the morning, my flight didn't leave until 5. As any young gung-ho Marine would do I decided to "pull an all nighter." I'd thought it wise to just sleep on the way home.
The minute the plane was in the air I tilted the seat back (ever notice how little the seats go back in coach?) and grabbed my complimentary pillow and began to snooze. Lights out. Dead to the world. Ask anyone, I can sleep.
There's a trait I happened to inherit from my dad. No I'm not talking about the rugged good looks. Unfortunately this one I would rather throw back into the gene pool. What is it? Talking in my sleep. Yeah, I'll hold full conversations with random people as if I were wide awake.
So there I was sleeping,  fully comatose, decked in parade uniform, talking up a storm. There was a problem though, I was cussing like a...well, there really is no comparisons I can draw upon. When I finally woke, thanks to the frightened stewardess, I looked around and the whole plane seemed to have these looks on their faces as if they'd been traumatized. I wiped the drool off my lower lip and asked why everyone seemed to be looking at me and keeping their distance like I had leporasy. "Dude, you must have been going through WWIII in your sleep." The other steward...er, what do you call male stewardesses? - said. I screamed and shouted and cussed and fought with imaginary enemies in my sleep on this quiet 4 hour flight to K.C.
The bucket i used to carry around was the bucket of foul language, anger, and resentment. I had a bad habit of letting that bucket spill out in the worst situation imaginagble, like on a flight where the frightened children had nowhere to run "Keep the crazy man away from us mommy!'
Now, now that the Spirit of God lives in my heart, I don't cuss. So the bucket's contents are a little less muddy. But every now and again I forget that I do have some buckets I don't like to carry that are overloaded. With the help of Christ I'm dumping those muddy ones out and doing my best to keep the buckets clean with fresh water - Living Water.