Green Monsters & Vinegar Cocktails

By Kat


Idolatry, the green little monster that rears his ugly head and taints green all things that are beautiful.


He turned the beauty and simplicity of my newfound hobby and tainted it the color of boogers, of phlegm. Things that give life—health, beauty, education—they become stained by this little monster.

Stained… until the purity and the humble glory that is repentance rushes in… and just like a perfect cocktail of baking soda and vinegar... washes the stain away.

My newfound passion, little by little, became all-consuming. My newfound passion, little by little, became stained green by this defecating little monster.

My newfound obsession took its form in a clear, glass, 2 oz. bottle, oozing with a light-yellow tint of my scientific findings—a perfect glass bottle of my very own mixtures and mixings. This perfect little bottle soothed my lips... and my cuticles… because that's what little bottles of organic perfection do… they serve multiple purposes.

It was four long days of traveling and Disney parks and family and heat and sun and exhaustion and sore muscles.

It had been one long day of airports and airplanes and security checks and taking out boarding passes and putting boarding passes away.

My husband, Taylor, sitting next to me on the flight looked over with a hint of excitement upon his realization that he could watch an episode of The Twilight Zone on our United Airlines flight. I nodded in affirmation and continued my book, which had provided me entertainment and heartbreak on four flights—nearly thirty chapters in a few short hours.

I knew what he'd ask for next—only one pair of headphones—mine. But, I didn't want to be bothered. I didn't want to stop reading. I didn't want to reach into my heavy carry-on and search for headphones. I wanted to keep reading about the Cuban boy, the Revolution, Fidel, The Worms.

But, Taylor wanted to watch The Twilight Zone. We did just ride the Tower of Terror, after all.

So reluctantly, yet emotionless, I closed my book, undid my seatbelt, and reached down for the bag. ZIP.



And there it went—the tiny glass of glory—my creation from my very own hands—my scientific experiment. Rolling its way down through the aisle, tasting freedom, at last.

And it was gone—lost somewhere between bags and feet.

“MY LIP-GLOSS,” I muttered, frustrated. I may have rolled an eye or two... rolled... just like the lip-gloss. I thrusted my book onto Taylor's lap.

“Hold this.”

I bent over to try and catch a last glimpse, failing miserably. My lip-gloss was gone. 

I was too angry to read for a few minutes after that. I sat there, internally blaming my husband’s desire to watch The Twilight Zone for my lost creation.

Idolatry, the green little monster that rears his ugly head and taints green all things that are beautiful.

The plane landed and the rows of people emptied. Taylor and I crawled down the aisles on all fours; the flashlights on our phones shining bright.

No lip-gloss.

A silent walk through the terminal.

"You sad?"


"Because of your lip-gloss?"


"I'm sorry," his sweet kiss and tender hug followed. He didn’t understand, but understood deeply.

In an instant—a softened heart—my softened heart... a softness that led me to...

Repentance, oh repentance, that purity and humble glory—the perfect cocktail of baking soda and vinegar—washing away the stain of idolatry.