A Little Dirt Never Hurt
I. Hated. Dirt. I didn’t just dislike it, or try to avoid it, no… I hated it! And those were my feelings about it when it was dry dirt, you don’t want to know how I felt about wet dirt (a.k.a. mud)!
"Why did I hate dirt” you ask? “What had it ever done to you?” Well… those are really good questions, and definitely pertinent to the story. Why did I hate dirt? My knee jerk reaction was that dirt was… well, DIRTY! Wasn’t that reason enough?! While it mollified some people at the time of saying it, it certainly was not the real reason. There had to be more to the story, a bigger reason for such a deep and almost unreasonable reaction to the substance the covers the Earth - right?
Okay, let’s get real. On a summer day, when I was about 7 years old, my best friend Lisa and I decided that it would be a great idea to begin a “beauty regimen.” So, from our shoulders to our fingers, our mid-thighs to our feet, and from our necks up, we gave ourselves mud baths. Yep - real mud, from the ground, wet dirt - you get the picture. We were so proud of our accomplishment. We even called my parents outside to see how beautiful we were becoming with our (one and only) mud treatment! My dad thought it was hilarious, so much so that he dashed back in the house, grabbed his camera, and immortalized the moment on film. My mother however was not as… enamored by our fun. Once a couple of photos were taken of our muddy gloriousness, my mom proceeded to clean us off. No, not with warm water in the tub - cold water, freezing cold water, from the hose!! After that Lisa scampered off to her house to shower, and as she was a “Tomboy,” I’m guessing there was no issue with her arriving home partially covered in mud. The rest of my clean-up was a bit less hospitable. My mom hosed me off again: When the mud was more than 90% “fire hosed off,” and I was completely frozen on that hot summer day, I was finally allowed to go in the house, through the utility room and kitchen, to the bathroom for a shower - making as absolutely as little mess through the house as possible. After that drama, (or maybe trauma is a better descriptor), I was exceedingly careful that my outdoor play consisted of only activities that kept me off the ground, and away from dirt!
Fast forward 11 years: I’m now a high school graduate, I’ve been in the performance and competitive arts for 10+ years, and I’ve just discovered Ballroom dance! I’ve been “bitten by the dance bug,” and I’m all in! As I begin this part of my life journey, I realize that one of the “necessary” accoutrements of competitive Ballroom dance is long finger nails. And, as I am (basically) as normal as anyone else, I find a good manicurist, and wear acrylic (fake) nails for the next 19 years. I absolutely LOVED them!! I had them long, I had nail art painted on them, I had rhinestones applied to them, I was head over heels for acrylic nails!! But, you can bet your bottom dollar that once I started wearing them, I absolutely, definitely, 100% did NOT touch anything that resembled dirt, earth, or mud ever! As all of my free time, around my college schedule, found me in a dance studio, and all of my weekends were spent dancing, traveling, competing, rehearsing, and dancing, I was only outside because I had to be, to get from home to car to studio to home, etc. Once I began teaching couples dance, my time outside was even less than when I had been a college student, so again, no time - or inclination, for dirt.
Now, if you’ve never worn fake nails, you may not be able to empathize with my feelings of severe “ooh yuck, gross!” when things like dirt or raw meat got under my one inch+ long nails. And, even from 1988 - 2007, acrylic nails were not cheap! It was between $30 - $50 per appointment, and appointments were every 3 - 4 weeks. Plus, when I was preparing for a competition (and I participated in 6 - 10 per year), or a showcase or presentation (at least 4 - 6 per year), I would have extra special nails, meaning I spent more money on them, so I certainly wasn’t going to do something as “foolish” as to dig in the ground!
By this point you have to be wondering “What is the point of this???” Thanks for sticking with me, because we’re at the good part… God. Is. Amazing. I stopped wearing acrylic nails in 2007. It made me sad to stop, but as early-weds, we were tightening our budget, and endeavoring to reduce household expenses. Once I wasn’t spending money on my nails, I realized that I could do things with my hands, which for the previous 19 years had been unimaginable! I could (and did) learn to handle and cook meat products, I could be outside and touch that “brown stuff” on the ground, I could even dig my fingers into it, without any drama! That same summer we decided that we wanted to grow a garden. I had helped my dad with gardens in the early 1970’s, so it had been a minute. Still, I was willing - especially as I no longer had nails to use as an excuse! Guess what? I. LOVED. IT. I loved it! I loved putting the seeds in the ground. I loved breaking up the dirt with my fingers. I loved the smell, I loved the texture, and I loved seeing things grow. After we moved to Nebraska, we gardened in a variety of ways: hay bale gardens (super easy and no weeds!), raised bed gardens, potatoes in a rack, cucumbers on hog panels, veggies in pots, and of course, in the ground (the old fashioned way). Again, it was bliss! I had dirt up to my elbows, under my finger nails, on my knees and nose, and no matter how covered in earth, dirt or mud, or even grass stains, my husband (who was right there with me in the dirt) never complained, nor threatened to get the hose. And, as I/we were the ones paying for the hot water, and doing any clean up of the floors that were walked upon, I could take myself up to our wonderful bathroom suite and take as long of a hot shower as I wanted.
God knew that I needed to have that experience of the “mud bath,” so that I would be able to appreciate His creation all the more. By not even touching the ground, except with my feet, for more than three decades (30 YEARS!!), He gave me such a gift. “And the LORD GOD planted a garden in Eden, in the east, and there He put the man whom He had formed.” Genesis 2:8 (Emphasis mine.) God allowed me to be in His creation every time I worked in our gardens. Through dirt, He gave me the ability to find peace and reconciliation with that long ago trauma. Through gardening (i.e. digging in the dirt), He gave me rest and endurance, patience and perseverance in such different and meaningful ways than He had through any other medium.
So, now it’s 2025 - I still don’t wear acrylic nails, we’ve moved several times since that great bathroom that I mentioned earlier, and we learned the hard way that it’s way harder to grow a garden in New Mexico than it is in Nebraska! But, I still love creating, planting, and tending a garden. I’ve figured out that it’s okay to get dirt under your finger nails - they even make special scrub brushes and pointed finger nail files to deal with cleaning out that very same dirt! I’ve even come to realize that God teaches important lessons while one’s hands are digging in the earth, covered with dirt. He teaches us, or at least He taught me, humility, grace, provision, endurance, and that the “Cultural Mandate” (Genesis 1:28) is pretty cool!
My hope that the “take away” from this is that it’s not only okay to change, grow, and mature, but it’s necessary and quite wonderful. I was a “city girl,” who rarely went outside. Never in a million years would I have thought that one day not only would I go outside, but I’d like it, and I’d choose to crawl around, on the ground, digging in the earth! So, the moral of this story is… embrace the change God brings to your life, let Him mold and shape you anew. He has plans we cannot see or comprehend! And… it’s alright to delight in the mud, ‘cause a little dirt won’t hurt!
Michelle Small
