We have had a
recent problem that is never “polite to talk about;” rodents in our attic. I
had wondered where they came from, but upon examining my roof I found a space
where they regularly managed to enter my dwelling. I surmised that they were
using my attic as a baby nursery, and an oasis; since there is an air
conditioner drain pan there. I realized, also, that overhanging tree limbs gave
“the little critters” perfect access to my attic.
On
one occasion I heard a louder than average scurrying "to and fro," and
wondered if a bear might have escaped from the zoo. While not a bear, it
did seem to be something more than a tit mouse.
I had a decision
to make. (“What would be my weapon of choice?”) I finally settled on a hammer.
Bad choice.
I climbed the
steps into my attic, turned on the light, and began my search. The search was
over in about 23 seconds. Since before me, in “all its glory,” sat an angry
possum. In spite of all the myths about possums, they do more than “play possum.” They can be dangerous animals.
I moved within a
couple of feet of the creature, and raised my hammer. Suddenly, the angry
animal snarled, and showed its razor teeth. I admit, ‘til the ugly little beast
bared its teeth, I hadn’t even thought of being bitten, or the possibility of
rabies.
I backed away
momentarily, and then closed in for the kill. My hammer fell, and the fall of
it guaranteed the possum a (very) short reprieve; (since, I missed my mark the
first time, and the hammer went through my ceiling)!
Of course, my wife was seated in the living room at the time,
and she remembers me poking my forefinger through the hole I had just created.
Well, its always too soon to give up, so I raised my fearsome weapon
again. This time the poor creature, with the big teeth and angry
disposition, went "the way of all flesh." I had plugged him square in
the head.
Sometimes we use
the wrong tools.
Years ago, we were
living in a different house, and I was heavily involved with my Sunday snooze.
Any rest I was going to get that day had just ended. For I was awakened by a
tremendous scream, and my wife calling my name.
“Royce, come quick.
There’s a rattlesnake in the back yard!”
Sure enough, I
looked out the window, and saw a six-footer sliding across the grass. I hurried
to load my 38 revolver, dropping a couple of the bullets, and ran into the back
yard.
Taking careful aim, I fired. And fired again in rapid succession. With
each shot I missed the snake, and dug up small holes in the ground...
around my own feet! I never did hit the old serpent. I suppose he'd
still be alive and well, were it not for a neighbor. The young man took a
hoe out of his shed, and murdered the monster.
Sometimes we use
the wrong tools.
As Christian helpers,
we should lean hard on the Holy Spirit in our ministry to hurting people.
Sometimes we use tools that are of little or no use. I have struggled with how
best to intervene on the behalf of not issues, but people. For even when the diagnosis, or issue is the same, I have
found reason to respond differently. For I am taken up with using the right tool.
Granted, we don't always know how to intervene, or what tool to use. It
can be all so confusing. Sometimes we feel like a fraud. As sincere as
we are, we find ourselves sincerely wrong. We find ourselves using a
proverbial bulldozer when a shovel would suffice. We use a pair of
pliers when we ought to be using a screw driver.
Or perhaps we
should be trading the hammer for a spray gun, or a revolver for a hoe.
(Personal confessions).
It’s like that in
Christian service. Someone may need a hug, rather than a confrontation. Another
may need a little silence in place of a little guidance. Someone else may need
a Rogerian approach rather than Cognitive-Behavioral.
We must be ready
to dispense with “the hammer” in favor of a more suitable tool. Perhaps some
need pruning; in lieu of shooting.
Sometimes we use
the wrong tools.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 25. Copyright pending
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