The Snake

As I walked out towards the pool, there he was, looking all regal, snakified. I didn’t even see him until I was almost on him, and then I jumped back several feet. He never moved. 

I hate snakes. 

I took his picture. My husband informed me that he was a good snake, if there is such a thing.  I thought, maybe we can cohabitate.  That would be new.  He could do his job and I could do mine.

Maybe I was softening toward snakes.

My husband went to the same area and never saw the snake.  He said most likely you will not see him. 

I came back later in the day to find him stretched out in the sun.  He was a long snake.  Again, I thought that maybe I could do this.  I watched him slither back towards our pool.  Then I watched him go around the side of our pool.  What happened to the “you will probably never see him” thing?  He even looked like he saw me. Brave, he seemed to be.  

I went into our house and still watched him for awhile as he freely went about our yard.  How has he just taken over? I watched him until I couldn’t see him anymore.  I thought for sure he has slithered back to his home.  

It’s like one of those things that you can’t stop looking at. It’s intriguing.

I came back out of our house.  I just had to know where he was.  As I rounded the corner of our house, there he was! He was no longer by our pool.  He was coming on up close to our porch!  He has made himself at home.

This I can’t live with.  He has to die.  No more toying with the idea that maybe we can

As I walked out towards the pool, there he was, looking all regal, snakified. I didn’t even see him until I was almost on him, and then I jumped back several feet. He never moved. 

I hate snakes. 

I took his picture. My husband informed me that he was a good snake, if there is such a thing.  I thought maybe we can cohabitate.  That would be new.  He could do his job, and I could do mine.

Maybe I was softening toward snakes.

My husband went to the same area and never saw the snake.  He said most likely you will not see him. 

I came back later in the day to find him stretched out in the sun.  He was a long snake.  Again, I thought that maybe I could do this.  I watched him slither back towards our pool.  Then I watched him go around the side of our pool.  What happened to the “you will probably never see him” thing?  He even looked like he saw me. Brave, he seemed to be.  

I went into our house and still watched him for awhile as he freely went about our yard.  How has he just taken over? I watched him until I couldn’t see him anymore.  I thought for sure he has slithered back to his home.  

It’s like one of those things that you can’t stop looking at. It’s intriguing. Mortified, horrified and can’t take me eyes off of him.

I came back out of our house.  I just had to know where he was.  As I rounded the corner of our house, there he was! He was no longer by our pool.  He was coming on up close to our porch!  He has made himself at home.

This I can’t live with.  He has to die.  No more toying with the idea that maybe we can cohabitate. We can’t.

Sin.  It so easily entangles us. We are at first scared of it because we know its wrong.  But we think we can live with it.  It’s not that big a deal.  

Every bad road that you or I have ever been down started with one little thought: maybe we can coexist.  It might not be so bad.  Why be such a stickler about this? 

And then it takes over.  It sets up house and just laughs at us.  We are hooked.  And sin has come for your life.

But it is not too late.  It is never too late. Jesus is always calling us to repentance and restoration. As for me, I picked up some rocks and started throwing them at the snake to make him go away.  “Oh, heck no..”,  I said to him, “Do not mess with me.” 

Tomorrow Robert will kill him.  We can’t play with sin. Or snakes.

PS:  I told Robert and the boldness of this snake.  I also told him that when we go back to find him, he will be sitting in one of our Adirondacks drinking a margarita. Here’s what we found when we went over to our house looking to kill him.

 

.

And now…

Well,  I won’t add that picture. Let’s just say that Heaven (or Hell) gained a new inhabitant.

Kathy McBroom

kathymcbroom@gmail.com

Advertisement