Patrick Butler: Another Look

Why is it so hard to learn spiritual lessons? Why do I have to come back to the same ones again and again?

Last Sunday I was dressed and ready for church. I was on time, honest. I even had a few minutes to burn and that's when it happened. When will I let things go? There's always something to work on or fix, is there not?

It was hot out this Sunday before Memorial Day. Outside I saw the hose was uncoiled. What would it hurt to put it in place; to add a bit of order to my life?

I surveyed the 25-yard hose with narrowed eyes. Parts were on the driveway, parts in the dirt. I had clean, pressed pants on and shiny shoes.

"Dirt would be bad," I thought, seeing Janet in my mind's eye, my wife slapping her forehead as I walked into church with dusty, dirty pant cuffs and scuffed shoes.

So I stuck my hands in my pockets and smiled. "Not this time."

Then it happened. I took a second look. They say sin is not looking upon evil. It's looking at it again. The hose was a snake coiled in my driveway basking in the sun and I didn't know it. It was just waiting to bite me.

It's a guy thing. Now it was a challenge to coil and stay clean.

I could lean over really far and coil it from a distance and wash my hands afterward. I thought. "What harm could that do?"

Oh, what needless pain we bear. Sunday is supposed to be a day when worries are diminished and God is the focus, right? I'm slowly realizing this.

"God is not into legalism," I've often told myself. "Who cares?" Well, perhaps no one. But when I work on a day set aside for rest I notice it's not much of a day of rest. And I normally need that day to get through the week in one piece. It's a commandment for a reason.

A day when there's a break in the relentless sounds of life is precious. I love the sounds of silence which isn't really silence. It's wind in the trees, the beating of a hummingbird's wings, crickets in the shade and the soothing sound of water lapping up on a shore. It's a reminder that life is short and there's more to it than food, clothing and shelter. "Be still and know that I am God," is how the ancient Hebrew Scriptures put it (Psalms 46:10). So rest.

But coiling a hose? What could happen?

Bending over so the dusty hose didn't brush my legs, I began to coil. But the hose was draped through a fire ant nest hidden in the grass. The ants had swarmed over the hose running up and down it.

When that section of the hose reached me and I grabbed it, the ants leaped on my arms like Tim Duncan flying from the free throw line to jam the ball for two points in the playoffs. I felt the familiar stinging sensation that says I'm destined for a few days of agony. Dropping the hose, I started hopping around, raising my arms in the air like Eli Manning after throwing an impossible pass to win the Super Bowl.

"Nooooooo, not again," I yelled intelligently.

Suddenly snapping the hose on, I drenched myself. The little devils still wouldn't come off. Running into the house throwing off shirt, shoes and socks, I jumped into the shower and forced every last one down the drain.

But the damage had been done. Red sores immediately sprang forth.

Remembering my pharmacist, Evelyn, had told me meat tenderizer would help stop the poison, I tore up the spice cabinet. Finding none, I called Janet who had gone to church early. When she answered in a whisper, I could hear people singing about "sweet Jesus" in the background.

That's exactly what I was thinking.

Janet said calmly, "Mix baking powder into a thick paste and apply it." Then, "You do the weirdest things to get out of church."

"You think I'm avoiding church by tangling with fire ants?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, you've done some pretty strange things trying to avoid what you don't want to do," she said.

But this wasn't one of them. I missed the service and whatever I would hear about God that might encourage me. I pretty much tore up Sunday. The next day, Memorial Day, I was itching like a madman instead of relaxing. Some day of rest.

That afternoon, I took another look as I slapped on the paste of baking soda on my aching arms. I suppose God speaks wisdom in every situation. Yes, I'll watch more carefully - again - for fire ants. But the whole thing could have been avoided if I'd thought one day a week was reserved for quiet, calm and reflection, not working.

I've learned my lesson (I hope). We'll see. There's a chance to put the concept into practice this weekend.

Patrick Butler
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