It wasn’t going to be easy to move my mother three hundred miles to live closer to me, considering the accumulation of possessions over time.
Among the extended family of helpers, my wife, three children, and I took first duty. Sacrificing spring break to serve Grandma, we first went to work emptying her extensive attic.
Day after day, the same scenario played out. My teen son Anthony and I would hand boxes down from the attic to younger siblings Austin and Rebecca, who along with my wife Sara would present them to their grandmother sitting on a chair in the garage for disposition decisions.
After three days of this drudgery, I promised the kids we could take a break and visit a nearby amusement park the next afternoon. But the next morning brought an unfortunate turn.
As Anthony and I worked in the morning light seeping into the attic, we both thought we saw something move out of the corners of our eyes. A shadow. A dark image. We weren’t sure what it was, but we both registered “snake” in our brains.
After some discussion, and with much caution, we inspected the area in question, moving containers around, slowly pushing things aside, pulses accelerating, ready to either run from or pounce on the snake as needed. Puzzled voices from the garage asked why the flow of material had stopped. “Give us a minute,” we called back. “We’re checking something.”
We could find no snake. Nor any kind of animal. Nor any evidence that an animal had been in the attic. Perhaps our minds had played tricks on us. Perhaps a bird or squirrel had moved past the window and created a shadow.
Then I made a mistake. I hollered down that we thought we saw a snake, but we couldn’t find anything, so we were resuming work.
I didn’t realize how upset my mother was about a possible snake until the rest of us headed to the amusement park. We weren’t there long before relatives started blowing up my phone. Why had I left my mother alone with the snake? Didn’t I realize the danger she was in? Didn’t I know (I’m not kidding) that the snake could travel through the electrical outlets and enter the living space?
I was furious and quit answering my phone, but the mood was ruined. We eventually cut our fun short and returned to the house, where I received a dressing-down from my mother.
That night in bed, I sulked and thought. How could I prove the absence of this reptile? How could I convince my mother and my outraged relatives that there was no danger?
By morning, I had a plan. To prove the snake was not a threat, we had to catch a snake, then get rid of it.
Swearing Anthony to lifelong secrecy, we plotted our script. We would trap the snake that wasn’t, place the fictitious snake in a shoebox, and hurriedly rush downstairs to dump it down a hole I’d seen in the neighbors’ yard. It just might work. It had to work.
We talked through the scenario multiple times, then we executed it. First, we waited until my mother had left the garage to use the bathroom. Then Anthony and I charged down the ladder, carrying the shoebox and hollering excitedly at everyone.
“We caught the snake!” we cried. “It’s in this box!” And we dashed out of the garage before anyone could react.
“What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?” Anthony and I shouted at each other. “Look, there’s a hole!” Racing next door, we flipped the box near the hole as Austin ran to catch up. “There it goes! Look at him go down that hole!”
A skeptical Austin was curious because he hadn’t gotten a good look at the snake, but we assured him it was black and two feet long and eager to slip down a hole to escape us. Then we sent him and Rebecca inside to announce the glad news to Grandma.
My mother was indeed glad to hear the snake was captured. The relatives were, too. Peace and harmony reigned in the family again. Party hats for everyone!
A year later, I couldn’t keep the secret any longer, so I told Sara, who assured me she would zip her lip. As Austin and Rebecca became adults, they too entered the circle of trust. In her remaining years, no one ever told my mother nor the relatives about the snake that wasn’t.
I always marveled that no one picked up on the obvious hole in our story. If one snake was in the attic, couldn’t there have been others? I don’t know how we would have disposed of the rest of them.
If you're looking for a dynamic speaker for your church or other organization, please consider me. I can tell funny stories like this one while also sharing how to live a seven-day practical faith. Please check out my Speaker Brochure and alternate places to learn about my speaking options and even reach out to book me.
The links are:
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