"For such is the will of God, that by doing right we may silence the ignorance of foolish men." 1Peter 2:15.
We can do the “right thing” all of our lives and bad things will still happen to us. Doing the right thing does not save us from future circumstances. It is when we continue to do the “right thing” when life goes bad on us that our lives gain significance in the eyes of others.
Job is the perfect example of the man who did the “right thing” all the time, yet he suffered a great deal. The real significance of Jobs’ life is that he continued to do the right thing even as he suffered. I’m going to go out on a limb here, but when I really give it some thought I realize that if Job hadn’t acted as he did he wouldn’t even be in the Bible. If he hadn’t continued to live as he always had his faith would have no standing with the world. It wasn’t his suffering that set him apart, a lot of people suffer. What set Job apart, what made him worthy of our notice, was what he did in the midst of his suffering. He just continued doing what he had always done.
It is when we continue to do the “right thing” when bad things happen that the world takes notice. When trials occur in our lives our first question is often, “Why me?”. The more appropriate question should be, “Why not me?”. My faith does not exempt me from adverse circumstance. Trials happen to everyone at some point, but we as Christians are given the means to cope.
Prior to Jesus, Job was the epitome of suffering. Things that never happen to anyone happened to Job all at the same time. A lot of people get hung up on the whole idea that God allowed Job’s children to be killed. What most of us fail to do is to look at these events from God’s perspective. Granted this is a difficult proposition at any time, but we need to try it in order to understand this issue. God knew that Job’s children would be going to heaven, which is better than being on earth any day. So their deaths were not a bad thing from His view, and once they got there I know they were pretty happy with the outcome. The reason He knew where they were going, aside from the fact that He’s God, is that Job had raised them to know God. In fact, Job even made sacrifices for his own children just in case they forgot or sinned somehow. Just to make sure all the bases were covered. Job did the “right thing” even when no one else thought he needed to. Job was conscious of his relationship with God all the time. Because Job spent so much time in fellowship with God there were qualities in that relationship that most of us only dream of because we have chosen not to pursue God wholeheartedly.
God knew Job. He trusted Job.
When God pointed to Job He said, “Have you considered my servant Job?” He didn’t say “Here’s a long list of my followers that you should look at.” Of all the people on earth He could have mentioned He named only one. He did not name Job’s children, or his wife, or his friends.
Job was the only name that passed God’s lips.
To have faith is to be tested. I have to wonder if untested faith is real faith at all.
Let me clarify that statement: We all have faith in something. It may be a thing, a person, or even an activity. We tend to put our faith in people or things that have passed some test that has proven to us that it is worthy of our dependence on it. Sooner or later the object of our faith will be judged as to whether or not it is worthy of it. I can tell you with complete certainty that everything we have faith in on this earth will fail us. The reason for that is this; on earth we determine whether something or someone is worthy of our faith, but with God it is He who determines if we are worthy to have faith in Him. The quality of our faith in God is determined by its resistance to the influences of a dying world, and it becomes our own choice as to whether we allow our faith to be strengthened or weakened. To be tested is to go beyond our own limits to the point where only God’s strength can sustain us. It is when I reach the limits of all that I aspire to that I find that I alone am not enough.
So it is that Satan dares to come before God, and he can’t help but acknowledge God’s authority in saying that he can’t get past the protection that God has set around his servant. I think there was a lot more to this interaction between God and Satan than we realize. I think Satan came face to face with the reality of God as he never had before.
“Have you considered my servant Job?”
Satan already knew about Job. He was already aware of the protection God afforded him. "Have You not made a hedge about him and his house and all that he has, on every side ?" (Job 1:10) He had already tried to get past God’s defenses. That’s how he knew that God had surrounded Job with His protection.
I think God was pointing something out to Satan. I think He was sending a message to Satan that said, “Whatever you do to this man will never be enough to make him curse Me. There is nothing you could ever do to anyone or for anyone that will create in them that kind of loving devotion to you. I alone am the one who will have this, and I freely return that same devotion to those who give it to Me. You lost this war before it began just as I have always told you. Have you considered my servant Job? Your worst will never be enough to change his heart. I already know the truth of Job, but by testing him you will only be proving the truth to yourself. You will not win. Remember the name of Job whenever you think you have won an inch of ground, and remember that you have gained nothing! So consider my servant Job, Satan, and understand that you haven’t got a prayer.”
I think the truth is this: God did not choose Job to suffer. He chose Job to survive.
God knew what Satan intended, and He knew that Job would not give up. He also knew that others would, and they would go to hell if Satan tested them the same way.
There are days when we have grief upon grief. Tragedy hits and life falls apart. We are not strangers to this. When something tragic happens I lose the ability to understand the why or the wherefore. It is completely overshadowed by the pain. Sometimes we don’t want to see our wounds. Sometimes we cover it over rather than acknowledging the fact that faith and grace are often very bloody.
When God’s protection was in place Job apparently did not feel Satan’s attacks. When it was taken away Job felt the attacks, but still endured because he knew for a fact that God was still there. Job had no ability to understand why these things were happening, but he did know without a doubt that none of it affected the fact of God’s existence or His love for him.
By living his life as he had, Job ensured that his own faith was strong enough to maintain an unseen connection with God so when God withdrew His protection from Job their connection remained. And we see the truth of this in scripture when we read, “Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.” (James 4:8) Once we are near God we are simply near Him. It doesn’t matter what side of the halfway mark you are on. To be in the presence of God is overwhelming no matter how far back in the balcony you think you are. All the seats are good.
After describing Job’s restoration the book of Job ends saying, “After this, Job lived 140 years, and saw his sons and his grandsons, four generations. And Job died, an old man and full of days.”
There is no further mention of Satan seeking to inflict anything further on him. He took his last shot and failed. I think Satan fled the halls of heaven chased by the voice of God echoing behind him saying, “Remember my servant Job.” Satan is a failure, and God considers us the jewel of His creation.
Satan’s failure is our success by God’s proxy. There is no better claim to God’s love than this. He proved it to us at the Crucifixion.
We will suffer,
and we will have joy,
and God will welcome us Home.
©Dan Bode 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Thursday, December 17, 2009
What Did the Shepherds Think?
What did the shepherds think?
Their part in the life of Christ did not end on the night of His birth.
How did they feel when the angels told them of Christ’s birth?
Certainly they were awestruck. They were most likely quite shocked to be chosen to receive this announcement. They were, after all, fairly low on the social scale even though they were the guardians of the main resource of the towns’ primary industry. They were perhaps not well known for their social skills. They were out in the hills by themselves for long periods of time, and human interaction seldom occurred. The appearance of angels announcing a birth would be shocking enough, but they must have wondered at the significance of their inclusion in it at all. They were, as a matter of course, avoided by the general population.
Perhaps it was later that they began to understand the significance of their role in Jesus’ life. Perhaps even years later, when Jesus’ ministry was in full swing, and if they realized that this Jesus was the same babe they once honored, when John the Baptist announced Him as the Lamb of God, maybe it was then that they began to see the implication of their presence in the stable. For the reality of their job, their vocation, one that was often passed on from father to son for generations, was to raise these lambs for sacrifice in the Temple at Jerusalem. This was the industry of this little town of Bethlehem. They were raised to be laid across the altar as atonement for the sins of the people. The perfect lamb was chosen and killed from the flocks they raised! Not since Abraham had stretched his own son Isaac across the stones had a human ever laid upon the altar, and he had been spared. Simply taking the title of The Lamb told the world who He was, for those who had ears to hear.
Did they perhaps hear of this and cover their mouths as they gasped in surprise? This babe, this Man, the Lamb?
How could this be?
And again, how did they feel when this same man who called himself the Son of God, also named Himself the Good Shepherd? Did they straighten their spines with the implication of the honor He gave them? Did they plant their shepherd’s staffs and let the light of pride shine in their eyes? Did they smile and think, “I knew Him! I was there when He was born!”?
Would they not also bow their heads in sorrow, and let a tear roll down a weathered cheek when they new the final destination of the unblemished lamb?
And how is it that He was both lamb and shepherd?
As the Lamb He knew He needed a caring and watchful eye on Him to insure His safety and fulfill His needs.
As a Shepherd He knew exactly what a lamb needed when He took them to the still waters, He knew how best to protect them; by laying down His life for them on the altar where they were meant to lie.
As a man He knows our needs.
As our God He knows our needs.
But all of this must have come later to the minds of the shepherds. They could not have known all that He was as they beheld Him in the manger. All they knew was the joy His birth brought the world that day, overwhelming as it was. They saw and heard a heavenly host, and found a King in lowly circumstance.
And in so many ways and so many times I am left to wonder what it must have been like to be a shepherd, kneeling before that bed of hay bringing with me the only gift I had available to me and saying,
“I am but a lowly shepherd and I have so little, but here, I have brought for you this perfect lamb….”
©Dan Bode 2004
Their part in the life of Christ did not end on the night of His birth.
How did they feel when the angels told them of Christ’s birth?
Certainly they were awestruck. They were most likely quite shocked to be chosen to receive this announcement. They were, after all, fairly low on the social scale even though they were the guardians of the main resource of the towns’ primary industry. They were perhaps not well known for their social skills. They were out in the hills by themselves for long periods of time, and human interaction seldom occurred. The appearance of angels announcing a birth would be shocking enough, but they must have wondered at the significance of their inclusion in it at all. They were, as a matter of course, avoided by the general population.
Perhaps it was later that they began to understand the significance of their role in Jesus’ life. Perhaps even years later, when Jesus’ ministry was in full swing, and if they realized that this Jesus was the same babe they once honored, when John the Baptist announced Him as the Lamb of God, maybe it was then that they began to see the implication of their presence in the stable. For the reality of their job, their vocation, one that was often passed on from father to son for generations, was to raise these lambs for sacrifice in the Temple at Jerusalem. This was the industry of this little town of Bethlehem. They were raised to be laid across the altar as atonement for the sins of the people. The perfect lamb was chosen and killed from the flocks they raised! Not since Abraham had stretched his own son Isaac across the stones had a human ever laid upon the altar, and he had been spared. Simply taking the title of The Lamb told the world who He was, for those who had ears to hear.
Did they perhaps hear of this and cover their mouths as they gasped in surprise? This babe, this Man, the Lamb?
How could this be?
And again, how did they feel when this same man who called himself the Son of God, also named Himself the Good Shepherd? Did they straighten their spines with the implication of the honor He gave them? Did they plant their shepherd’s staffs and let the light of pride shine in their eyes? Did they smile and think, “I knew Him! I was there when He was born!”?
Would they not also bow their heads in sorrow, and let a tear roll down a weathered cheek when they new the final destination of the unblemished lamb?
And how is it that He was both lamb and shepherd?
As the Lamb He knew He needed a caring and watchful eye on Him to insure His safety and fulfill His needs.
As a Shepherd He knew exactly what a lamb needed when He took them to the still waters, He knew how best to protect them; by laying down His life for them on the altar where they were meant to lie.
As a man He knows our needs.
As our God He knows our needs.
But all of this must have come later to the minds of the shepherds. They could not have known all that He was as they beheld Him in the manger. All they knew was the joy His birth brought the world that day, overwhelming as it was. They saw and heard a heavenly host, and found a King in lowly circumstance.
And in so many ways and so many times I am left to wonder what it must have been like to be a shepherd, kneeling before that bed of hay bringing with me the only gift I had available to me and saying,
“I am but a lowly shepherd and I have so little, but here, I have brought for you this perfect lamb….”
©Dan Bode 2004
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Papa Taught Me
Recently I had the opportunity to watch my Grandchildren Kaya, five, and Oliver, one, for a few hours while their parents were busy. At some point during our time together Kaya asked if she could tie my shoe which was sitting on the floor next to me. I was under the impression that she didn’t know how to tie shoes yet so I wasn’t worried about it.
“Sure.”, I said.
She happily went to work tying my shoe. It occurred to me that she didn’t really have any shoes with laces. Hers have buckles or Velcro. Don’t get me wrong, I think Velcro is one of the greatest inventions of all time. It’s right up there with duct tape. The thing is that nowadays I’m pretty sure the only kids who know how to tie knots anymore are Boy Scouts. Knots can be pretty useful. They should have classes on knots in school.
“Ok Papa I’m done.”
She handed me back my shoe with a knot that I’m sure bore a remarkable resemblance to the Gordian knot that Alexander the Great had to contend with just before he went on to conquer Asia Minor. He used a sword to deal with his. I always appreciated his straightforward approach to that. I was afraid I might have to contend with this in a similar manner, although I could probably do it with scissors, even though I have a friend who collects real swords and has a few he would let me borrow.
For someone who didn’t know how to tie shoes she had done a pretty remarkable job. The laces looped under and around each other with knots tied randomly amongst them. Then they were looped haphazardly around the area where the laces are strung through the holes in the shoe and tied again. Have you ever seen a handful of earthworms all intertwined in a mass that looks like one big earthworm all wrapped up in itself?
That’s the best description of what it looked like.
She grabbed my other shoe and began to work on that one.
“Uh sweetie, that’s not really the way you tie a shoe.”
“Well I don’t really know how to tie a shoe. Would you show me?”
I was at one of those points in the day where I actually didn’t have anything that needed doing, and, after realizing that this was indeed the case and my time was actually free for a while, I said, “Sure”.
So I proceeded to show her how to make the first knot, which she had already proven pretty adept at, and then the first loop, and then wrapping the lace around the first loop and pulling it through. She then tried it herself and didn’t quite get it right, but it was a very good first attempt. I showed her again what needed to be done, telling her in the process, “I didn’t get it right the first time either. It took me a little while before I got it.”
Of course, immediately after I said that she got it.
I looked down at the shoe, and realized that it was tied correctly!
“Hey! You did it!” I said.
She looked at the shoe with eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise.
Then she looked at me and smiled.
“I did it!” she yelled and clapped her hands.
“Very good! It took me a lot longer than that! Good job!” I said. You’re supposed to make a big deal when kids do something right and act excited, but I was really excited about it! I’d forgotten how much fun it is to see a child’s face light up like that when they come to understand something good for the first time.
“I want to do it again! Can I do it again?”
“Sure!”
So she did it again, and again, and again. She got it right every time, refining her method a little more each time.
Then she turned it around on me.
“Ok, now let’s pretend that you don’t know how to tie a shoe.” She said, “You have to do it wrong and then I’ll teach you how to do it right. You have to get it wrong six times ok?” she said.
“Ok.”
So I pretended to mess up tying the shoe laces.
“That’s good but you didn’t get it quite right.” She said in her best teacher’s voice. “You need to make sure you put the loop through here like this.”
We went through six variations of messing up the tying of the laces until I was allowed to get it right.
“You did it! Good job!”
It occurred to me that the “Tying of the Shoes” is kind of a milestone in childhood. I’ve never really asked anyone else about this, but it turned out to be a big deal for me. To this day I remember the first time I tied my own shoe without any assistance. I was in kindergarten at the time so I was Kaya’s age when it happened. I remember being so surprised. I was almost afraid to untie it to try again for fear I would be stranded with flopping shoe laces. I practiced and practiced without success and then at some point for no apparent reason it all just came together at one specific moment, and there it was! A tied shoe lace! Will you look at that! One more step toward independence complete. I think it was about that time I started thinking about trying to ride a bicycle.
It wasn’t until the next morning that it really hit me about exactly what had happened.
I was getting ready for work brushing my teeth. I could hear Kaya in the living room showing her father how she could tie shoes.
“Good job Kaya! I’m so proud of you!” he said.
“Papa taught me!” she said.
When I heard those words it all crystallized for me. You see I know that my daughter had been working with her and teaching her how to do it before this, but it just hadn’t come to that final moment. I was given the privilege of seeing everyone else’s efforts come to the moment of fruition. I didn’t really teach her so much as she just came to that final stage of learning. I was just a witness to it.
In that moment I became acutely aware of the memories we give our children. There is no way to determine what will stick in their minds, or how they will interpret what we do or say with their child’s mentality. Every parent who loves their children wants them to remember them well, but still we have to discipline them at times, and this they will remember too. But with enough love they will see the balance when they are old enough to think it through. We parents have to wait a while for that reward though.
But here’s the kicker: just as I remember the first time I tied my shoes, I’m pretty sure she’ll remember it too. And the most precious thing for me is that I will be there in her memories of it, and she will remember that I love her long after I am gone.
I hope they still have shoes with shoe laces when she grows up.
I hope she’ll be able to smile at the memory when she teaches her children, and she will see my face and remember me with fondness.
©Dan Bode 2009
“Sure.”, I said.
She happily went to work tying my shoe. It occurred to me that she didn’t really have any shoes with laces. Hers have buckles or Velcro. Don’t get me wrong, I think Velcro is one of the greatest inventions of all time. It’s right up there with duct tape. The thing is that nowadays I’m pretty sure the only kids who know how to tie knots anymore are Boy Scouts. Knots can be pretty useful. They should have classes on knots in school.
“Ok Papa I’m done.”
She handed me back my shoe with a knot that I’m sure bore a remarkable resemblance to the Gordian knot that Alexander the Great had to contend with just before he went on to conquer Asia Minor. He used a sword to deal with his. I always appreciated his straightforward approach to that. I was afraid I might have to contend with this in a similar manner, although I could probably do it with scissors, even though I have a friend who collects real swords and has a few he would let me borrow.
For someone who didn’t know how to tie shoes she had done a pretty remarkable job. The laces looped under and around each other with knots tied randomly amongst them. Then they were looped haphazardly around the area where the laces are strung through the holes in the shoe and tied again. Have you ever seen a handful of earthworms all intertwined in a mass that looks like one big earthworm all wrapped up in itself?
That’s the best description of what it looked like.
She grabbed my other shoe and began to work on that one.
“Uh sweetie, that’s not really the way you tie a shoe.”
“Well I don’t really know how to tie a shoe. Would you show me?”
I was at one of those points in the day where I actually didn’t have anything that needed doing, and, after realizing that this was indeed the case and my time was actually free for a while, I said, “Sure”.
So I proceeded to show her how to make the first knot, which she had already proven pretty adept at, and then the first loop, and then wrapping the lace around the first loop and pulling it through. She then tried it herself and didn’t quite get it right, but it was a very good first attempt. I showed her again what needed to be done, telling her in the process, “I didn’t get it right the first time either. It took me a little while before I got it.”
Of course, immediately after I said that she got it.
I looked down at the shoe, and realized that it was tied correctly!
“Hey! You did it!” I said.
She looked at the shoe with eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise.
Then she looked at me and smiled.
“I did it!” she yelled and clapped her hands.
“Very good! It took me a lot longer than that! Good job!” I said. You’re supposed to make a big deal when kids do something right and act excited, but I was really excited about it! I’d forgotten how much fun it is to see a child’s face light up like that when they come to understand something good for the first time.
“I want to do it again! Can I do it again?”
“Sure!”
So she did it again, and again, and again. She got it right every time, refining her method a little more each time.
Then she turned it around on me.
“Ok, now let’s pretend that you don’t know how to tie a shoe.” She said, “You have to do it wrong and then I’ll teach you how to do it right. You have to get it wrong six times ok?” she said.
“Ok.”
So I pretended to mess up tying the shoe laces.
“That’s good but you didn’t get it quite right.” She said in her best teacher’s voice. “You need to make sure you put the loop through here like this.”
We went through six variations of messing up the tying of the laces until I was allowed to get it right.
“You did it! Good job!”
It occurred to me that the “Tying of the Shoes” is kind of a milestone in childhood. I’ve never really asked anyone else about this, but it turned out to be a big deal for me. To this day I remember the first time I tied my own shoe without any assistance. I was in kindergarten at the time so I was Kaya’s age when it happened. I remember being so surprised. I was almost afraid to untie it to try again for fear I would be stranded with flopping shoe laces. I practiced and practiced without success and then at some point for no apparent reason it all just came together at one specific moment, and there it was! A tied shoe lace! Will you look at that! One more step toward independence complete. I think it was about that time I started thinking about trying to ride a bicycle.
It wasn’t until the next morning that it really hit me about exactly what had happened.
I was getting ready for work brushing my teeth. I could hear Kaya in the living room showing her father how she could tie shoes.
“Good job Kaya! I’m so proud of you!” he said.
“Papa taught me!” she said.
When I heard those words it all crystallized for me. You see I know that my daughter had been working with her and teaching her how to do it before this, but it just hadn’t come to that final moment. I was given the privilege of seeing everyone else’s efforts come to the moment of fruition. I didn’t really teach her so much as she just came to that final stage of learning. I was just a witness to it.
In that moment I became acutely aware of the memories we give our children. There is no way to determine what will stick in their minds, or how they will interpret what we do or say with their child’s mentality. Every parent who loves their children wants them to remember them well, but still we have to discipline them at times, and this they will remember too. But with enough love they will see the balance when they are old enough to think it through. We parents have to wait a while for that reward though.
But here’s the kicker: just as I remember the first time I tied my shoes, I’m pretty sure she’ll remember it too. And the most precious thing for me is that I will be there in her memories of it, and she will remember that I love her long after I am gone.
I hope they still have shoes with shoe laces when she grows up.
I hope she’ll be able to smile at the memory when she teaches her children, and she will see my face and remember me with fondness.
©Dan Bode 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Peter and Telemachus - Men of Purpose
A few years ago a friend of mine did a devotional at a men’s breakfast. In that message he asked two questions:
1. Who is God to you?
2. What will you do for Him?
I came away from there asking myself those questions, and I came to realize that, for me, one is dependant on the other.
Who God is to me will determine, in the end, what I will do for Him.
It also begs another question: Who am I to God?
This latter question seems the easiest one to answer. He is pretty clear in His word about my importance to Him.
To God, I am worth His presence at the beginning, during every moment of my life, and at the end. To God, I am worth allowing into His home, His heart, His plans. To God, I am someone worth dying for, and dying with. I really have no desire to question why this is so; I’m just glad it is.
So I come back to the original questions in this context, and find a much richer answer.
I must first acknowledge that I cannot hope to match the devotion of God. I am human, and a sinner. I am imperfect, and can only gain perfection through Him anyway. I am an unfinished work, not yet ready for the gallery of finished products.
I have to look at history for examples of others whose devotion to Him was evident in their lives. Jesus’ disciple Peter is one of my favorites. Always rebellious, a storm waiting to be unleashed, his pride and anger showing their faces all through his time with Christ. Yet, with all his faults, all of which Christ was keenly aware, this uneducated fisherman is the only human to know what it was like to walk on water. He was the one to leave the other 11 disciples behind in the boat on a stormy sea as they watched in dumbfounded fascination while He went to meet their Lord on the water. His actions that day came about as a result of who God was to him. He acknowledged, for a little while at least, that Christ had authority over nature. For Christ he was willing to say, “If He says I can, then I know it’s true that I can walk on water.”
Who God was to him, led Peter to do what we see as impossible.
But there is another that I’d like to tell you about. His name was Telemachus.
So take my hand, and let us go back in time. Rest with me as we sit on a grassy hill overlooking a small settlement of monks. Watch with me as we see his story unfold.
Telemachus was a monk who lived in the hills somewhere in Asia Minor. He was content to tend the needs of his monastery, living a quiet life. In fact, we come upon him tending the garden, on his knees, dirt on his robe and hands. His is the life of the ascetic, serving God in a simple life with few needs. We see him sit back and wipe his brow with the back of his hand. He looks heavenward with a startled look on his face and frowns. “Rome?” he says aloud, though we hear no one else speak nor do we see anyone else near. “I know not why, but I will go.” He says.
He goes to his small, spartan room and gathers a few things. He stops at the kitchen to take food for his journey, and walks away from the life he has known comfortably for years. His journey to Rome is long, but God supplies him, and he arrives in good health, still unsure of the reason for his presence there. It is a time of festival, for the Romans are celebrating their victory over the Goths, and there are entertainers for the crowds and free bread being distributed throughout the city. Telemachus is swept along toward the coliseum, possibly unaware of what he is about to see. He finds himself amidst a sea of people, and though he did not intend to go there, he finds himself in the stands of the coliseum. He is unsure of what is about to occur, but he can feel the malevolent hunger of the crowd, and it fills him with foreboding. Here, put your hand against his chest, feel his heart thudding with anxiety. He still does not know why he is here, only that he must be.
Out on the sand of the arena two men walk out to stand before the emperor’s box. Raising their swords they offer the gladiator’s salute, “We who are about to die salute thee!”
With that they turn to face each other.
It is here, with horrifying clarity, that Telemachus understands the purpose of this stadium, and his purpose for being here. Feel his heart again. It’s alright; he is unaware of our presence. It beats slow and steady now. He knows his purpose. He will fulfill his call.
“In the name of Christ forbear!” he cries.
His lone voice is drowned out by the noise of the boisterous crowd.
He begins to run down the steps to the arena, yelling frantically “In the name of Christ forbear!”
He remains unnoticed as the crowd continues to focus on the unfolding spectacle in the sand.
He leaps the barrier to land in the arena, and runs across the sand to stand between the gladiators as they circle each other. Raising his hands he cries again, “In the name of Christ forbear!”
The fighters shove him aside trying to continue their fight. We can see some confusion on the faces in the crowd. They are not sure if this is part of the game or not. Some laugh at the little man in the worn robe, but others do not share the humor. Cries of “Kill him!”, and “Get him out of the way!” are heard.
Telemachus knows his purpose. He will not be put aside. He jumps in between the two fighters once again and cries, “In the name of Christ forbear!”
The gladiators react in their frustration and one of them thrusts his gladius through Telemachus’ chest, piercing his heart. For some reason the crowd that seconds before had demanded his death now sits in stunned silence. As Telemachus’ body slides off the sword and falls to the sand we can here him whisper, “In the name of Christ forbear….”, and so he dies.
It is said that the crowd left the coliseum in silence, and that this was the last gladiator event in the Roman arena.
Another account says that Telemachus died instead when the crowd stoned him to death for interrupting their sport. Both accounts are consistent in saying that he died on the sands of the arena, and that his death there led to the ending of the games.
In either event, we have seen how he was only one man standing against an entire society because God called him to do it.
Because God was Telemachus’ king, he was willing to give his life for Him.
Who God was to Telemachus determined what he did for Him.
One person can change the world.
It does not always happen in big ways. Not all of us will have a wide audience. In fact, most of the time we each change just a small part of our world, but each of us builds on the influence of the other, and often unknowingly contribute to the greater effect. We become a small part in a huge intricate latticework that God is constructing. The importance of our place in it can not be diminished for the simple reason that it is God who put us there. We fit where we fit because God is who He is to each of us, and He has made us each uniquely suited to the need we fill. Even our faults are incorporated into the greater picture. One of the greatest testimonies to the love of God is that He is able and willing to use and love us despite our greatest flaws.
Does this mean that we are to find a sword to fall on in order to honor His call on each of us? No, He has not called us all to do this, although there are those who will. I am called to be known as His child wherever I am. At work I must do my job diligently and well. At home I must treat my wife and children in the way He would have me treat them, with all the love, tenderness and respect I know how to give. I must be the same person out in the world as I am in the comfort of my church.
If God is the loving God to me that I know He is, then I must determine to show that love to all who know me, by loving them and protecting them in every way possible. Whether they know Him or not, they must know Him through me.
Peter and Telemachus were just two simple men, but look what God did with them once they understood their Purpose!
©Dan Bode 2003
1. Who is God to you?
2. What will you do for Him?
I came away from there asking myself those questions, and I came to realize that, for me, one is dependant on the other.
Who God is to me will determine, in the end, what I will do for Him.
It also begs another question: Who am I to God?
This latter question seems the easiest one to answer. He is pretty clear in His word about my importance to Him.
To God, I am worth His presence at the beginning, during every moment of my life, and at the end. To God, I am worth allowing into His home, His heart, His plans. To God, I am someone worth dying for, and dying with. I really have no desire to question why this is so; I’m just glad it is.
So I come back to the original questions in this context, and find a much richer answer.
I must first acknowledge that I cannot hope to match the devotion of God. I am human, and a sinner. I am imperfect, and can only gain perfection through Him anyway. I am an unfinished work, not yet ready for the gallery of finished products.
I have to look at history for examples of others whose devotion to Him was evident in their lives. Jesus’ disciple Peter is one of my favorites. Always rebellious, a storm waiting to be unleashed, his pride and anger showing their faces all through his time with Christ. Yet, with all his faults, all of which Christ was keenly aware, this uneducated fisherman is the only human to know what it was like to walk on water. He was the one to leave the other 11 disciples behind in the boat on a stormy sea as they watched in dumbfounded fascination while He went to meet their Lord on the water. His actions that day came about as a result of who God was to him. He acknowledged, for a little while at least, that Christ had authority over nature. For Christ he was willing to say, “If He says I can, then I know it’s true that I can walk on water.”
Who God was to him, led Peter to do what we see as impossible.
But there is another that I’d like to tell you about. His name was Telemachus.
So take my hand, and let us go back in time. Rest with me as we sit on a grassy hill overlooking a small settlement of monks. Watch with me as we see his story unfold.
Telemachus was a monk who lived in the hills somewhere in Asia Minor. He was content to tend the needs of his monastery, living a quiet life. In fact, we come upon him tending the garden, on his knees, dirt on his robe and hands. His is the life of the ascetic, serving God in a simple life with few needs. We see him sit back and wipe his brow with the back of his hand. He looks heavenward with a startled look on his face and frowns. “Rome?” he says aloud, though we hear no one else speak nor do we see anyone else near. “I know not why, but I will go.” He says.
He goes to his small, spartan room and gathers a few things. He stops at the kitchen to take food for his journey, and walks away from the life he has known comfortably for years. His journey to Rome is long, but God supplies him, and he arrives in good health, still unsure of the reason for his presence there. It is a time of festival, for the Romans are celebrating their victory over the Goths, and there are entertainers for the crowds and free bread being distributed throughout the city. Telemachus is swept along toward the coliseum, possibly unaware of what he is about to see. He finds himself amidst a sea of people, and though he did not intend to go there, he finds himself in the stands of the coliseum. He is unsure of what is about to occur, but he can feel the malevolent hunger of the crowd, and it fills him with foreboding. Here, put your hand against his chest, feel his heart thudding with anxiety. He still does not know why he is here, only that he must be.
Out on the sand of the arena two men walk out to stand before the emperor’s box. Raising their swords they offer the gladiator’s salute, “We who are about to die salute thee!”
With that they turn to face each other.
It is here, with horrifying clarity, that Telemachus understands the purpose of this stadium, and his purpose for being here. Feel his heart again. It’s alright; he is unaware of our presence. It beats slow and steady now. He knows his purpose. He will fulfill his call.
“In the name of Christ forbear!” he cries.
His lone voice is drowned out by the noise of the boisterous crowd.
He begins to run down the steps to the arena, yelling frantically “In the name of Christ forbear!”
He remains unnoticed as the crowd continues to focus on the unfolding spectacle in the sand.
He leaps the barrier to land in the arena, and runs across the sand to stand between the gladiators as they circle each other. Raising his hands he cries again, “In the name of Christ forbear!”
The fighters shove him aside trying to continue their fight. We can see some confusion on the faces in the crowd. They are not sure if this is part of the game or not. Some laugh at the little man in the worn robe, but others do not share the humor. Cries of “Kill him!”, and “Get him out of the way!” are heard.
Telemachus knows his purpose. He will not be put aside. He jumps in between the two fighters once again and cries, “In the name of Christ forbear!”
The gladiators react in their frustration and one of them thrusts his gladius through Telemachus’ chest, piercing his heart. For some reason the crowd that seconds before had demanded his death now sits in stunned silence. As Telemachus’ body slides off the sword and falls to the sand we can here him whisper, “In the name of Christ forbear….”, and so he dies.
It is said that the crowd left the coliseum in silence, and that this was the last gladiator event in the Roman arena.
Another account says that Telemachus died instead when the crowd stoned him to death for interrupting their sport. Both accounts are consistent in saying that he died on the sands of the arena, and that his death there led to the ending of the games.
In either event, we have seen how he was only one man standing against an entire society because God called him to do it.
Because God was Telemachus’ king, he was willing to give his life for Him.
Who God was to Telemachus determined what he did for Him.
One person can change the world.
It does not always happen in big ways. Not all of us will have a wide audience. In fact, most of the time we each change just a small part of our world, but each of us builds on the influence of the other, and often unknowingly contribute to the greater effect. We become a small part in a huge intricate latticework that God is constructing. The importance of our place in it can not be diminished for the simple reason that it is God who put us there. We fit where we fit because God is who He is to each of us, and He has made us each uniquely suited to the need we fill. Even our faults are incorporated into the greater picture. One of the greatest testimonies to the love of God is that He is able and willing to use and love us despite our greatest flaws.
Does this mean that we are to find a sword to fall on in order to honor His call on each of us? No, He has not called us all to do this, although there are those who will. I am called to be known as His child wherever I am. At work I must do my job diligently and well. At home I must treat my wife and children in the way He would have me treat them, with all the love, tenderness and respect I know how to give. I must be the same person out in the world as I am in the comfort of my church.
If God is the loving God to me that I know He is, then I must determine to show that love to all who know me, by loving them and protecting them in every way possible. Whether they know Him or not, they must know Him through me.
Peter and Telemachus were just two simple men, but look what God did with them once they understood their Purpose!
©Dan Bode 2003
Monday, October 5, 2009
Not Just a Dog
I had to have our dog put to sleep today.
I have been dreading this moment for a while now. We got her from friends several years ago, and they got her from the pound so we don’t know her exact age but she was somewhere around 16 years old. I watched her body fail gradually, and finally reached a point where I realized that she was still alive only because I didn’t want to let her go. I don’t think I really wanted to admit that I was that attached to her. I finally reached a point where watching her suffer was more than I could bear, and I finally gave up my selfishness.
Emma was with us for several years, and when we got her she fit right into our family. We had just gone through the loss of our previous dog when our friends, who had her then, moved to Texas. She filled the space left so empty from our loss, and gave us a connection to our now absent friends as well, providing more comfort than we had anticipated.
She was there to provide entertainment when she would do something that was probably a normal dog behavior, but left us laughing all the time. When we got our cat they would play together constantly and we would just sit back and watch the show. She was present when our grandchildren were in the house and walked the hall nervously when they would cry, much like a parent might do. She was always ready to play with anyone at anytime, and I never really did her justice in trying to keep up with her. She barked when there was something to bark at, but only then. She always insisted on checking in with me when I sat down in the living room as well. She would roam the floor first and look for any edible treasures the kids had dropped first, and then come over and rest her head on my leg until I petted her for a while.
I suppose it was a combination of all these things that helped to form my attachment for her. Unconditional love and loyalty is so hard to come by in people that we find it more easily in animals who, once they bond with us, remain devoted to the best of their abilities. They don’t take into consideration the greater social, political, and moral implications of a relationship. They just know we like to see them at the door when we come home so they do it happily.
I understand that animals don’t fit into the whole structure of salvation, but they are part of God’s wonderful creation of which we are stewards and caretakers. A job, incidentally, that I believe we are failing miserably at. Animals often fill a void created by lack of human relationships, because we can ascribe any given attribute to that relationship. We don’t have to rely on feedback from the animal to improve the relationship, as with a human, to give that relationship more or less value, but we do have to provide for all their needs. I was responsible for every aspect of the relationship, but Emma was just being herself which was what we desired. Her presence fulfilled the need with no demands or expectations. She was happy to be around us. I realize as well that the value of the relationship with my dog originates with me. It is as valuable as I make it. My friend Cliff says that I should, “Think about what you learned from your dog.” It’s a good point, because I’m beginning to think that I would be better off treating people more like my dog treated me. I think God used her to give me life lessons which I will be learning for some time.
Because of all this letting her go was harder than I had anticipated. I watched as she struggled more and more each day to simply stand up. I realized at the end that I was really hoping that she would go on her own. I didn’t want the responsibility for deciding her life. I understand that in the case of humanity the responsibility for that choice can only be reasonably borne by God Himself. I am thankfully not adequate to that task. I could not bear that pain, for it is not in my power to offer anyone Heaven.
She walked into the house and kept stumbling as she walked across the floor. She came over to where I sat in the chair as was her custom, and laid her head on my leg a little more heavily than usual, and I knew. She was tired. It was time.
Some will say that she was just a dog. Just a pet. But she was more than that.
She was a present friend, and an unconditional comforter.
She will be missed.
©Dan Bode 2009
I have been dreading this moment for a while now. We got her from friends several years ago, and they got her from the pound so we don’t know her exact age but she was somewhere around 16 years old. I watched her body fail gradually, and finally reached a point where I realized that she was still alive only because I didn’t want to let her go. I don’t think I really wanted to admit that I was that attached to her. I finally reached a point where watching her suffer was more than I could bear, and I finally gave up my selfishness.
Emma was with us for several years, and when we got her she fit right into our family. We had just gone through the loss of our previous dog when our friends, who had her then, moved to Texas. She filled the space left so empty from our loss, and gave us a connection to our now absent friends as well, providing more comfort than we had anticipated.
She was there to provide entertainment when she would do something that was probably a normal dog behavior, but left us laughing all the time. When we got our cat they would play together constantly and we would just sit back and watch the show. She was present when our grandchildren were in the house and walked the hall nervously when they would cry, much like a parent might do. She was always ready to play with anyone at anytime, and I never really did her justice in trying to keep up with her. She barked when there was something to bark at, but only then. She always insisted on checking in with me when I sat down in the living room as well. She would roam the floor first and look for any edible treasures the kids had dropped first, and then come over and rest her head on my leg until I petted her for a while.
I suppose it was a combination of all these things that helped to form my attachment for her. Unconditional love and loyalty is so hard to come by in people that we find it more easily in animals who, once they bond with us, remain devoted to the best of their abilities. They don’t take into consideration the greater social, political, and moral implications of a relationship. They just know we like to see them at the door when we come home so they do it happily.
I understand that animals don’t fit into the whole structure of salvation, but they are part of God’s wonderful creation of which we are stewards and caretakers. A job, incidentally, that I believe we are failing miserably at. Animals often fill a void created by lack of human relationships, because we can ascribe any given attribute to that relationship. We don’t have to rely on feedback from the animal to improve the relationship, as with a human, to give that relationship more or less value, but we do have to provide for all their needs. I was responsible for every aspect of the relationship, but Emma was just being herself which was what we desired. Her presence fulfilled the need with no demands or expectations. She was happy to be around us. I realize as well that the value of the relationship with my dog originates with me. It is as valuable as I make it. My friend Cliff says that I should, “Think about what you learned from your dog.” It’s a good point, because I’m beginning to think that I would be better off treating people more like my dog treated me. I think God used her to give me life lessons which I will be learning for some time.
Because of all this letting her go was harder than I had anticipated. I watched as she struggled more and more each day to simply stand up. I realized at the end that I was really hoping that she would go on her own. I didn’t want the responsibility for deciding her life. I understand that in the case of humanity the responsibility for that choice can only be reasonably borne by God Himself. I am thankfully not adequate to that task. I could not bear that pain, for it is not in my power to offer anyone Heaven.
She walked into the house and kept stumbling as she walked across the floor. She came over to where I sat in the chair as was her custom, and laid her head on my leg a little more heavily than usual, and I knew. She was tired. It was time.
Some will say that she was just a dog. Just a pet. But she was more than that.
She was a present friend, and an unconditional comforter.
She will be missed.
©Dan Bode 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Alligator Lizards
There are incidents in my childhood that I have simply been unable to forget. Most of these are capitol letter “Incidents”.
Like the Dead Alligator Lizard Incident.
Had I been a few years older I probably could have gotten biology credit in school for this one. Most kids have a low tolerance for boredom, and I was no exception. My friend Ron and I were sitting around one summer day with nothing to do, desperately trying to think of something before our mothers realized we were victims of inactivity. We had already tried the traditional forms of boyhood entertainment like catching bugs and throwing them into a spider web. Watching the spiders mounting frustration as it tried to get through the roly-poly’s armor was particularly fun, but even that no longer held our attention.
Finally we hit on the idea of catching some alligator lizards.
This was traditionally considered a weekend activity in our neighborhood, I don’t really remember why. Usually a large group of the neighborhood kids would all go down to an old abandoned paper factory a few miles from our neighborhood. The entire lot was overgrown with tall grass and weeds. There were several old fifty-gallon drums lying around there as well.
This was the lair of the alligator lizards. I don’t know if this was the actual name of the lizard or not. We just called them that because they were obviously lizards and they looked like alligators. They usually grew to a length of 12 – 18 inches. I don’t know why they chose this parcel of land as a suitable habitat either, but they were there. The minute you stepped off the sidewalk into this lot you could hear the unmistakable rustle of their movements as they sensed your presence. You could feel their eyes on you the second you entered their domain.
There really is no suitable explanation as to why we considered this entertainment. We came to the lot with a burlap sack and caught several of them. We would bring them back to the neighborhood and put them all in a wooden crate for a few hours and sit there watching them watching us. Wow.
What can I say, I was eight.
Anyway, this day Ron and I decided to go catch some lizards on our own since no one else was around. We grabbed a sack and headed out. We had found in the past that the lizards sometimes enjoyed crawling under the drums so as we entered the lot we headed for one of them right away. We had determined since I was the biggest, that I would be the one to move the drum, and Ron would wait and catch them in the sack.
What happened next was unique in all the adventures of our childhood.
Reptiles had always fascinated us. Lizards in particular were considered high on the interest scale. Any animal that had a tail that would break off and still move just to occupy the predator was pretty cool. I must take a moment here to point out that we really had the lizard’s best interests in mind. We were going to hand feed them all the bugs we could catch, we were even going to give them meat stolen from our own refrigerators. They were going to be very comfortable lizards.
I took hold of the rim of the drum and leaned back rolling the drum off to the side. Sure enough, there on the ground were two of the biggest alligator lizards we had ever seen. They were probably the parents of every other lizard on that lot. We had assumed they would not appreciate being exposed in this way, and we were right. They took off in different directions. One ran off into the weeds on the right, and the other ran straight at Ron. I don’t know if it was attacking Ron or it just didn’t realize it was heading for a person. At any rate Ron put one foot forward so he could bring the bag down to the ground. The problem was he put his foot directly into the path of the fleeing lizard. The lizard, seeing the sack coming down, veered off to avoid it and found itself in contact with Ron’s foot. Maintaining its momentum it continued in its quest for freedom and found what it must have thought was a temporary haven in that dark space that happened to be the inside of Ron’s pants leg.
Most kids our age had pretty decent reflexes, and Ron was no exception. When he realized that a very large alligator lizard had indeed run up his pant leg he did what anyone would have done in his situation. He screamed.
Before the lizard had gotten very far Ron had grabbed his leg at the knee and started vigorously shaking his leg in an effort to dislodge the lizard. I could see the end of the tail sticking out from under the cuff of his pants which led me to believe the lizard was hanging on to the front of his shin for dear life. It did not appear to be inclined to let go.
It was at this point that Ron’s scream descended from the realm of mindless terror to the level of barely coherent thought. He began to yell, “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
It was like a mantra. He kept repeating it over and over and over.
I began to realize that this was not an ideal situation. My mind was not working at the same speed as Ron’s since I was not under the influence of the fear induced adrenaline rush as he was. I turned my thoughts to the task at hand. In my mind there were basically two options for removing the offending lizard.
The first option required that I reach up into my friends pant leg and grab the lizard.
There were two problems with this option. The first was I didn’t know if the lizard would be able to turn around and bite my hand as I laid hold of it. It did have a good set of little teeth on it, after all.
The second problem with this scenario was that it simply wasn’t prudent to take the chance of being seen by someone I knew, while putting my hand up the pant leg of another boy.
So considering these factors I decided to follow through on my second option.
“Hold still!” I yelled. I needed him to stop shaking his leg.
Still holding his leg at the knee, he planted his foot firmly on the ground.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Just get it out!” he replied.
“OK, Here goes”
I kicked him in the shin.
His shin was well cushioned so he felt no pain from it. I can’t say the same for the lizard, although it was certainly a quick death. As the initial shock of what I had done wore off he said, “Eeeeewwwwww! Eeeeeeewwwww! Why did you do that?!”
“I didn’t want it to bite me.”
“Eeeeeeewwwww! It’s all wet! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
He pulled his pants leg up as far as he could, almost to his knee, and I reached up and peeled the lizard off of his shin. He was right, it was wet.
To be honest I was impressed with the condition it was in. Considering what it had just been through it was, even so, an intact specimen. If my interests had taken a turn to taxidermy at that point this would have been a pretty good practice piece. After I got it off and started looking at it, Ron’s interest was piqued as well.
“Wow! Hey that’s pretty neat! You can see everything!” He said as he grabbed a handful of grass and started wiping off his leg.
We considered trying to keep it long enough to show our friends, but we couldn’t think of a good way to preserve it. No mother that we knew of would allow us to keep it in the freezer, and we thought it might start to smell if we took it home to just dry in the sun. In the end we opted to give it a simple burial there in it’s homeland. We dug a shallow grave in the dirt and made a pattern of a cross with rocks over the spot. We thought it was the right thing to do.
From then on we never went back to catch lizards by ourselves again. Large groups were the way to go because there were more people available to herd them. One “Incident” in this area was enough. There were other “Incidents” as well, and we learned a great many lessons from them like: don’t put a sealed soda can in an incinerator, don’t jump off the roof using a blanket as a parachute, or never put gas in a coffee can and light it and then try to put it out with water. Things that often ensured our survival in this world. And they kept us in good physical condition from running away from whatever we did. We were fortunate that we only had to learn our lessons once.
But hey, at least we learned.
©Dan Bode 2000
Like the Dead Alligator Lizard Incident.
Had I been a few years older I probably could have gotten biology credit in school for this one. Most kids have a low tolerance for boredom, and I was no exception. My friend Ron and I were sitting around one summer day with nothing to do, desperately trying to think of something before our mothers realized we were victims of inactivity. We had already tried the traditional forms of boyhood entertainment like catching bugs and throwing them into a spider web. Watching the spiders mounting frustration as it tried to get through the roly-poly’s armor was particularly fun, but even that no longer held our attention.
Finally we hit on the idea of catching some alligator lizards.
This was traditionally considered a weekend activity in our neighborhood, I don’t really remember why. Usually a large group of the neighborhood kids would all go down to an old abandoned paper factory a few miles from our neighborhood. The entire lot was overgrown with tall grass and weeds. There were several old fifty-gallon drums lying around there as well.
This was the lair of the alligator lizards. I don’t know if this was the actual name of the lizard or not. We just called them that because they were obviously lizards and they looked like alligators. They usually grew to a length of 12 – 18 inches. I don’t know why they chose this parcel of land as a suitable habitat either, but they were there. The minute you stepped off the sidewalk into this lot you could hear the unmistakable rustle of their movements as they sensed your presence. You could feel their eyes on you the second you entered their domain.
There really is no suitable explanation as to why we considered this entertainment. We came to the lot with a burlap sack and caught several of them. We would bring them back to the neighborhood and put them all in a wooden crate for a few hours and sit there watching them watching us. Wow.
What can I say, I was eight.
Anyway, this day Ron and I decided to go catch some lizards on our own since no one else was around. We grabbed a sack and headed out. We had found in the past that the lizards sometimes enjoyed crawling under the drums so as we entered the lot we headed for one of them right away. We had determined since I was the biggest, that I would be the one to move the drum, and Ron would wait and catch them in the sack.
What happened next was unique in all the adventures of our childhood.
Reptiles had always fascinated us. Lizards in particular were considered high on the interest scale. Any animal that had a tail that would break off and still move just to occupy the predator was pretty cool. I must take a moment here to point out that we really had the lizard’s best interests in mind. We were going to hand feed them all the bugs we could catch, we were even going to give them meat stolen from our own refrigerators. They were going to be very comfortable lizards.
I took hold of the rim of the drum and leaned back rolling the drum off to the side. Sure enough, there on the ground were two of the biggest alligator lizards we had ever seen. They were probably the parents of every other lizard on that lot. We had assumed they would not appreciate being exposed in this way, and we were right. They took off in different directions. One ran off into the weeds on the right, and the other ran straight at Ron. I don’t know if it was attacking Ron or it just didn’t realize it was heading for a person. At any rate Ron put one foot forward so he could bring the bag down to the ground. The problem was he put his foot directly into the path of the fleeing lizard. The lizard, seeing the sack coming down, veered off to avoid it and found itself in contact with Ron’s foot. Maintaining its momentum it continued in its quest for freedom and found what it must have thought was a temporary haven in that dark space that happened to be the inside of Ron’s pants leg.
Most kids our age had pretty decent reflexes, and Ron was no exception. When he realized that a very large alligator lizard had indeed run up his pant leg he did what anyone would have done in his situation. He screamed.
Before the lizard had gotten very far Ron had grabbed his leg at the knee and started vigorously shaking his leg in an effort to dislodge the lizard. I could see the end of the tail sticking out from under the cuff of his pants which led me to believe the lizard was hanging on to the front of his shin for dear life. It did not appear to be inclined to let go.
It was at this point that Ron’s scream descended from the realm of mindless terror to the level of barely coherent thought. He began to yell, “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
It was like a mantra. He kept repeating it over and over and over.
I began to realize that this was not an ideal situation. My mind was not working at the same speed as Ron’s since I was not under the influence of the fear induced adrenaline rush as he was. I turned my thoughts to the task at hand. In my mind there were basically two options for removing the offending lizard.
The first option required that I reach up into my friends pant leg and grab the lizard.
There were two problems with this option. The first was I didn’t know if the lizard would be able to turn around and bite my hand as I laid hold of it. It did have a good set of little teeth on it, after all.
The second problem with this scenario was that it simply wasn’t prudent to take the chance of being seen by someone I knew, while putting my hand up the pant leg of another boy.
So considering these factors I decided to follow through on my second option.
“Hold still!” I yelled. I needed him to stop shaking his leg.
Still holding his leg at the knee, he planted his foot firmly on the ground.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Just get it out!” he replied.
“OK, Here goes”
I kicked him in the shin.
His shin was well cushioned so he felt no pain from it. I can’t say the same for the lizard, although it was certainly a quick death. As the initial shock of what I had done wore off he said, “Eeeeewwwwww! Eeeeeeewwwww! Why did you do that?!”
“I didn’t want it to bite me.”
“Eeeeeeewwwww! It’s all wet! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”
He pulled his pants leg up as far as he could, almost to his knee, and I reached up and peeled the lizard off of his shin. He was right, it was wet.
To be honest I was impressed with the condition it was in. Considering what it had just been through it was, even so, an intact specimen. If my interests had taken a turn to taxidermy at that point this would have been a pretty good practice piece. After I got it off and started looking at it, Ron’s interest was piqued as well.
“Wow! Hey that’s pretty neat! You can see everything!” He said as he grabbed a handful of grass and started wiping off his leg.
We considered trying to keep it long enough to show our friends, but we couldn’t think of a good way to preserve it. No mother that we knew of would allow us to keep it in the freezer, and we thought it might start to smell if we took it home to just dry in the sun. In the end we opted to give it a simple burial there in it’s homeland. We dug a shallow grave in the dirt and made a pattern of a cross with rocks over the spot. We thought it was the right thing to do.
From then on we never went back to catch lizards by ourselves again. Large groups were the way to go because there were more people available to herd them. One “Incident” in this area was enough. There were other “Incidents” as well, and we learned a great many lessons from them like: don’t put a sealed soda can in an incinerator, don’t jump off the roof using a blanket as a parachute, or never put gas in a coffee can and light it and then try to put it out with water. Things that often ensured our survival in this world. And they kept us in good physical condition from running away from whatever we did. We were fortunate that we only had to learn our lessons once.
But hey, at least we learned.
©Dan Bode 2000
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