Sneaky Snake

I was walking around the dock when I spotted him, the granddaddy of every snake in our lake, sunning his fine self on an ancient pile of cypress knees. I froze. I love looking at snakes— if, and only if, the two of us are separated by a healthy distance. With me on the dock and Grandpa Sneaky in the water, I felt pretty safe.

I was sure Grandpa Sneaky was venomous because, well, just because. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see his head from my angle. The head’s the tell-tale sign, you know. If it’s pointy, he’s dangerous. If it’s not pointy, he’s still dangerous because he can make one snake fake towards you and you’ll hurt yourself getting out of his way. I didn’t pick that up on Animal Planet, either.

Determined to see his head, I grabbed a cane pole and waved it at him. Instead of slithering away, Sneaky curled up into a basketball size ball of snake. (Interesting, Watson, take that down, will you?) Intrigued, I nudged him with the tiny end of the pole— not the big end, mind you. When we were little Mama told us ‘bout this little boy who poked a stick at a snake and the thing ran up the stick and bit him. She might’ve just been telling us that so we wouldn’t poke snakes, but it wasn’t happening here ‘cause Sneaky would have to shimmy that skinny end first.

I never did scare that fat snake out of his spot, but later, back at my desk I started thinking about the analogy of my playing with what could’ve been a poisonous reptile. Although the Bible identifies our enemy and clearly defines his snares, sometimes people play around with temptation the way I played with that snake because they think they’re at a safe distance. If you recognize yourself friend, I’m asking you on behalf of the Father, “Leave that snake alone and get back to your desk.”

Hugs, Shellie