Have I mentioned yet, I hate skunks. I know, I’ll probably get nasty terse
comments from those of you who have had your pet skunk neutralized, sanitized,
and , made house compatible, but it won’t change my opinion one bit. I live out in rural northwest Arkansas,
amidst cow pastures, deer runs, squirrels, armadillos, roadrunners, ground
hogs, and other wildlife. I enjoy them
all, except for the skunks.
When we first moved here in 1995, I didn’t know how
prolific, nor did I have a clue as to how determined the little creatures are
to take up residence underneath your home.
After about the twelfth ‘skunking’ in less than a year, I finally
succeeded in securing my home from their attacks. These attacks usually came on Saturday nights
just before church, so I began calling them the skunks from hell. Every once in a while, I’ll let down my
defenses, and one of the little buggers will slip in through some impossible
hole. This has gone on for nearly
eighteen years now, until Beatrice Bandersnatch came along.
Beatrice Bandersnatch is a jet black miniature . . .
.something. We were told she is a ‘pidoodle’
but I don’t know what that is. All I do
know is that when she first came to our home as a small puppy, she left her
pidoodle puddles everywhere. This
tendency forced me to put her out on our enclosed patio on the back of our
home. We put her out at night, and leave
her there during the day while we are at work.
One of the unintended benefits of her being on the patio is a rapid
decline in skunk attacks. “Bea”, as we
call her, is a yapper. Her sense of
smell is terrible, but she can hear birds in the back yard, squirrels in the
pecan tree, and . . . other dogs barking everywhere. SHE IS TERRITORIAL! She loves people, but can’t stand critters,
especially birds. (This is one of the
reasons I go to the Church office to enjoy the sparrows.) Did I mention that Bea is not my dog? She belongs to my wife, but that is another
story.
Anyway, for the last four years, we’ve enjoyed relative
freedom from skunks, until two nights ago. After four years of potty training,
and battling with her to keep her off of our bed, I finally relented to
allowing Bea into the house on cold nights.
The first two nights went remarkably good, she slept in her bed, didn’t
yap, and she didn’t leave any surprises.
Sunday night, the temperature was surprisingly warm for December, so Bea
wanted to stay out on the patio. Out she
went.
Then it happened.
I have a few questions for the Lord when we get to heaven,
and one of them will be about skunks.
The unmistakable aroma of skunk began to waft through our bedroom, and
Glenda moaned “There’s skunks under the house.”
“There can’t be.” I
replied while desperately hoping it was all a bad dream. Then I heard Bea barking her head off. I got up, turned on the porch light, and
looked out the back door. The door to the patio was closed, I opened the
door just a crack , and was assaulted by the most violent odor on earth. In all my time on this earth, I’ve never
smelled such a high concentration of skunk smell. I quickly closed the door, and retreated into
our ‘stinky’ house. Bea continued to do
her territorial bark for nearly two hours, while I tossed and turned in the pit
of skunk hell.
Discovering what happened would have to wait till that
afternoon, as my wife, and I both leave before daybreak for work.
When I got home yesterday evening, I began my walk around
the usual places where the skunks have gone in before. Everything was good. Then I came around the backyard. Needless to say, it was not good. The smell was deadly to say the least. There, at the bottom of the glass door leading
to our patio was this dinner plate sized greasy splotch of skunk spray. The picture of what happened, became clear to me in an instant. Bea, who’d been in the house for the last few
days, had ‘surprised’ a skunk as it made its way around our home. In terror at the sight of this ferocious
black creature barking at it, the skunk let go.
SPLAT all over the glass.
I began to laugh as I realized how remarkably funny this
must have been. If it hadn’t been for
the glass door, Bea would be a stinky ball of fur in a kitchen sink being
washed with tomato juice. She had a
shield, but she didn’t know it. For her,
the glass is a boundary to her freedom.
It keeps her from running the yard as she likes to do. (She has never run away in the four years we’ve
owned her.) We actually keep her in the
patio to protect her from the many coyotes that infest the area. She isn’t afraid of anything except for my
brother’s white Labrador that passed away just recently. Without fear, we knew she was no match for
the pack of coyotes that roam the area. Therefore,
she is in her glass cage, free to bark, free to live, but not free to run at
night. It was at this moment that I had
a Spiritual insight.
Christ is our shield.
He is there, transparent, but strong.
From the outside, to those looking in, it may appear as if Christians
are imprisoned within a glass cage of silly rules that have no apparent purpose. Beyond our transparent shield, there are so
many harmless pleasures that can be enjoyed.
Outside of the confines of the ‘patio’ is a world just waiting to be
discovered. To outsiders, the patio of
our faith must appear to be a cruel, rigid prison. The glass ‘rules’ of kindness, compassion,
love, and forgiveness, are not conducive to success in this modern world. The posts of prayer and bible study are a waste
of time to those who’ve never experienced the strength they provide in times of
trial. The shield of faith goes unseen,
until the enemy comes at us. Then we
realize how valuable it is. Those things
that would destroy us, splatter harmlessly against it, while we continue to yap
at the enemy from the other side. We
find shelter in the Lord of Hosts. We
still see the evil around us, but it doesn’t come nigh our tent. Does the stench of sin still waft all around
us? Yes, but we are untouched by
it. Does the enemy still prowl around at
night seeking to devour? Yes, but he is
repelled by the power of Christ’s love for us.
As my days on this earth become fewer, I’ve learned to trust
the shield of faith. Psalm 91 has become
a mantra for me. I’m like the little
sparrow that nests within the framework of the tabernacle, my shield, my fortress,
my residence is within the presence of God.
I only keep my eyes open to see the surprise on the face of the wicked
when their best efforts splatter against the shield of faith. I meditate upon the transparent glass of
faith, able to see out, but not desiring to ‘be’ out. That is the new creation I’ve become in
Christ Jesus.
It cost me a night of sleep, but it was a good lesson.
No comments:
Post a Comment