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Location: Clearwater, South Carolina, United States

Friday, August 19, 2005


The year was 1980 and it had been a tough several months, living across the street with in-laws and working on our new house every possible moment. We had now been in the house a couple of months and things were just starting to get back to normal when suddenly one evening a peace-shattering event occurred.

The wife and children were in another part of the house and I was relaxed on the couch, viewing the tube. This was when I sensed a slight movement in the edge of my peripheral vision. Fixing my gaze on that particular spot, I had only a moment to wait to catch sight of what was moving. It was a mouse!

Being the man and protector of the house, I grabbed a shoe and ran toward the last sighting place of the rodent. It sprinted away and went into my small study – probably to do some cheesy research – and I gathered offensive and defensive weapons for our eminent combat.

These consisted of a light, a towel, a yardstick and the innocent looking, but deadly, shoe. The light to find the critter, the yardstick to get it into the open, the towel to close off the crack under the door, and the shoe was the deadliest weapon I had at hand on such short notice.

No time was allotted for any warrior ceremonies, any cleansing rituals or even physical preparation, the danger was now and it had to be faced! Closing the door behind me, I stuffed the towel under the door to prevent the beast from escaping. I knew that the die was cast, fates were sealed, it was me and the mouse, and only one of us would come out alive!

Locating this member of Rodentia behind the filing cabinet, the yardstick and I convinced it to make a run for it. There was the scampering of the creature, the thudding of the shoe on the floor, every blow landing just inches behind, and the quarry, finding no other place of safety, again found refuge behind the cabinet.

Once again the yardstick and I flushed the small mammal from hiding. Once again the quick scurry and the thudding of the shoe missing its mark told any outside the room that the small one was still alive and there was a war going on. It was at this point the tiny quadruped made its last mistake.

It made a run for the crack under the door that I had carefully closed with a towel, still with the thudding of shoe close behind. It was only a fraction of a second delay in its bid to escape, but enough for my slow reactions to catch up. Now if there is a mouse heaven, I did my part to help this one get there.

The burial ceremony was a somber affair and I felt slightly saddened because of this departed one’s valiant struggle – it was just something that had to be and it fell my lot to make it happen. Do I still think of the mouse? That I do is made obvious by this email.

It took a couple more months to finally rid the residence of the small furries that took up abode here during the construction period, but we finally had a mouse-free house.

We may sometimes feel like the mouse, desperately running away from the thudding of satan’s shoe, but instead we should be the one chasing the devil - and not with a shoe, but with the Sword of the Spirit – the Word of God! ec


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