Saturday I decided to go scout up a big buck. I stopped my 4 wheel drive Gator and walked into the woods where I thought a big trophy deer might be hanging out. I walked about twenty yards into the forest and I felt something akin to a well thrown punch slam me in the shin.
I looked down and a large Eastern Diamondback Rattlesnake had just struck my leg.
Yikes!
I tried to step back but I dragged the heavy snake with me because his fangs were lodged in the shoelaces of my “snakeproof” boots, (oh yeah I’d had the foresight to wear them on this warm day).
I began stomping that snake and my 183 lbs proved too much for his mere fifteen pounds or so. Either his fangs broke off or he let go but I stomped and stomped until his head was flatter than a pancake and about as thin as an envelope.
This old boy was about five feet long and as big around as my forearm. His head was nearly the size of my fist (and once flattened even bigger). He was a nasty looking critter. I was going to cut his rattles off but thought better as I watched him do the “flat head wiggle”; he was dead but continued writhing around. It creeped me out so much I stomped him a few more times.
I was thinking this morning how sorry I feel for cats; after all they only have nine lives. I’ve faced death far more than that. I briefly reviewed it this morning and shook my head; two head on collisions, three cars that rolled over, caught twice in vicious offshore storms that nearly capsized my boat and electrocuted me with lightening hitting 100 feet away from my boat and raising the hair on my neck and arms; I overdosed on drugs, was shot at on several occasions, beaten with clubs, Survived Hurrican Camille, chased through the woods by an angry 1500 lb. bull that we were trying to catch with our hog dogs, slid to the very edge of a 2000 foot drop off in Idaho while mule deer hunting; and I’m sure I could think of more if I spent some time on it.
My dad complained that he didn’t know why God wouldn’t allow him to just go ahead and peacefully die in his sleep. He’s 90 with Parkinson’s; he’s outlived my mother and his second wife of 35 years; he’s outlived most of his friends and is now mostly alone and living with often intense pain and discomfort. He has a bright vitally alive mind trapped in a worn out body.
I told him the answer was simple, God was not ready to take him home just yet. I suppose that is why He’s put up with all of my idiocy all these years. I told Dad that perhaps his purpose is to continue to teach his Sunday school class or maybe lead someone to Christ in his nursing home, or perhaps God just isn’t quite through decorating his new mansion in heaven. I told him not to agonize over it and just go with the flow. He is a devout Christian and will enter heaven soon enough and that should be enough encouragement to keep waging the good fight.
I’m like Dad. I don’t fear death; in fact I look forward to it. To my mind, anyone who has studied the Bible and has faith could not be any other way. I also have a burning desire for helping lead others to Christ. I mean this will be my only opportunity to do so. I don’t think too much along the lines of attaining my lifelong residence in heaven, because I know that I should focus on Christ and what He wants me to accomplish while still in this life.
There will be endless eons to enjoy heaven, but this ain’t no dress rehearsal folks – This is all we get down here, so get comfortable with it and focus on what you can do for Jesus Christ until that wonderful day that you get called home.
Psalms 39:5
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man’s life is but a breath. Selah