Last week I flooded my bathroom when I left the bath water running and forgot about it. Or at least, that’s what Superman says. I’ve decided to refer to the incident as “the day I cleaned the floors really well.”

When I realized what I’d done, I had that moment of “Oh molasses, Superman’s gonna kill me.” But then I remembered Superman loves Lois Lane. He would never harm her. Right?

That’s when I decided I’d better do as much as I could, as quick as I could, to minimize the damage. I soaked every towel in the house and threw them in the now-empty bathtub. Then I started with the blankets. When the bathtub was full of sopping linens, I realized I needed to get them out of the house. But how? They were heavy and drippy, and if I carried them out the front door I’d drip all the way through the hall and the living room.

I called my mother, hoping she held the key to wisdom that would successfully get me out of this situation. She suggested I throw all the blankets and towels out the window.

There’s a window over my bathtub, which is quite lovely, but rarely gets used. We keep the blinds down for modesty purposes, so I almost forgot it was there. But at Mom’s suggestion, I realized that was indeed my best option. So I climbed into the bathtub, jumped up and down on the blankets and towels for a couple of minutes to wring them out some more, and then lifted the window.

Before long, I was heaving those heavy things right into the shrubs behind my house. My closest neighbors—a herd of cattle just over the back fence—mooed at me.

I ignored them. What do they know? They don’t even take baths.

When my tub was empty and my shrubs were full, I traipsed through the house, around the back, and transported the blankets and towels one by one to the gazebo. Yes, I have a gazebo, which Superman designed and built himself, for such a time as this.

Over the backs of Adirondack chairs—which Superman also built—and draped over the chiminea, across the retaining wall, and . . . you get the picture. It looked like a mini refugee camp.

I was feeling quite pleased with myself for all my hard work and ingenuity when Superman got home. Yes, I’d flooded the bathroom—er, cleaned the floors—but it was all done. Finished. Taken care of.

I thought.

Closer inspection by the S-man showed the top of the carpet in the closet was dry, but the padding beneath was soaked. So every time we stepped in there, it left wet footprints behind. It wouldn’t be long before the carpet would be soaked, too. And it was probably gonna stink.

Plus, the threshold between the bathroom and bedroom was wet, and the wood floors in front of the door, uh, squished.

Superman just kept shaking his head and saying, “Baby. Baby. Baby. Oh, Baby.” I used to think “Baby” was a term of endearment. Not anymore.

Then, being the builder that he is, he decided we needed to check outside. Sure enough, all around the foundation behind the bathroom and closet, there was water.

Together we cleared out the closet and ripped out the carpet and padding. Dragged it all to the garage, with a couple of space heaters. Our cars had to stay in the driveway for a few days.

We removed the threshold piece from the door to the bathroom, and Superman pried the wood floor up with a couple of screwdrivers. We set a fan there.

Then we had to take the bed down and move it out to make sure the floor was completely dry.

In other words . . . I made a big ‘ol mess of things. And it wasn’t easy to fix. But Superman helped me fix it, because he loves me. And because he didn’t want our house to rot and fall down.

After a few days, the carpet was clean and dry. It’s now back in the closet, and it’s been newly stretched. The floors are shiny. It’s all good.

Sometimes we goof up and make a big ‘ol mess of our lives. When that happens, there’s usually not an easy fix. It takes time to make things right.

Fortunately for us, we have a heavenly Father who loves us. He may shake His head in disbelief, but He never leaves us alone to clean things up. And since He created us, He knows where to search for cracks in the foundation that we might overlook. With God as our helper, we can put our lives back together into something beautiful, no matter how bad it may seem at the moment.

Renae Brumbaugh Green is a bestselling author and award-winning humor columnist. She lives in Stephenville with her handsome, country-boy husband, nearly-perfect children, and far too many animals. Connect with Renae at www.RenaeBrumbaugh.com.