Strolling through the bush on a spring afternoon, sunscreen on my bare arms, a dog on a leash, I round a bend in a track and almost trip over a writhing venomous brown snake. With my heart beating fast, I jump, tighten my hold on Quinn’s leash and then run. I finish our walk with my eyes glued to the ground, scanning the track for further snake danger.
Snakes are a part of life where we live. There’s no avoiding them. Mostly, they stay hidden in the bush. But sometimes, when the ground is dry, they wriggle out into the beckoning sun, and we must acknowledge their presence.
A couple of years ago, a new neighbour knocked on our door to inform us a snake had just slithered under his fence into our garden. “I’ve called a snake catcher,” he said.
I thanked the man but suspected the snake would be long gone before anyone arrived with snake-catching tongs and a bag. I was right. The snake continued slithering under side fences from garden to garden, or it wriggled under our bottom fence and returned to the bush.
So the snake disappeared. It didn’t harm us. It didn’t hurt our dogs. But the story could have been different.
A few years ago, my son Callum returned home from work to discover his dog, Jessie, was dead. She’d been bitten by a venomous eastern brown snake, probably after a brave battle: the snake was also dead.
I told this story in my post, Letting Go of Control. It begins:
On Saturday evening, Jessie, Quinn’s sister, died. My son Callum’s Shar Pei/Great Dane puppy was bitten by a 2-metre-long brown snake.
Her death wasn’t in The Plan. She should have lived for years. Instead, the Jessie stories have suddenly come to an end. There’ll be no more comparisons: “Is Jessie much bigger than Quinn? Send us a photo!” No more I’ll protect you! barks from a warrior puppy. No more soggy doggy kisses.
We make plans. We think we know what’s ahead. And then something happens. In an instant, life flies out of our control. Without turning the page or even moving to a new paragraph, the story changes.
Callum digs a big puppy-sized grave under the tree in his backyard.
Our one-day-old son is lowered into the cemetery ground.
If you have the password, you might like to read the rest of the story.
In the post, I explored this idea:
We might hold on tightly to our ideas, opinions, and plans, thinking we’re in control. But life is unpredictable. Unexpected things happen. Could it be wise to let go of control, focus on today and not be afraid to live life as we should right now?
Strolling through the bush with my eyes glued to the ground, my AirPods glued to my ears, I listen to an episode of the Chris Stefanick Show: Paralysed by FoMo? Learn How to Make Decisions with the Legendary Fr Wetta (and the Desert Fathers).
Fr Wetta tells how his sister asked him to give a toast at her wedding the same week he took solemn vows. Not knowing what he’d say, he asked the advice of an older monk.
And I said to him, ‘What do I tell my sister on her wedding day?’ And he said, ‘Ah, you tell her that the day will come when she will want the window open and he will want the window closed.’ Then he went back to sleep.
And I had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded good enough. So I stood up at her reception. I said, ‘Chris and Brent, the day will come.’
People came up to me afterwards, saying, “Ooh, what does that mean?”
Fr Wetta pretended he knew the meaning of those words, saying, ‘No man can give another man’s path meaning. You must live your way.’ Fr made these words his own, often repeating them.
Ten years after the wedding, Father Wetta finished a homily with his ‘the day will come’ words, and the nuns who were present nodded: ‘Yes, Father.’ When the priest returned to his seat, he thought, ‘I can’t lie to a bunch of nuns.’ So he stood up again and admitted he had no idea what ‘The day will come…’ meant: ‘It’s just something I say.’
Later, a sister approached Fr Wetta, saying she knew the meaning of the words.
The nun told the story of her first assignment as a Missionary of Charity in the Amazon. Six nuns lived in a metal shack with one door and one window. Every night, a nun from the local area shut the door and closed the window right before bed.
For three years, the nuns prayed for this sister to be transferred, and finally, she was. The other nuns opened the door and window the first night after she left before going to bed. The breeze blew in, and they had the most pleasant night ever.
And when they woke up, there were snakes in their beds.
The sister finished her tale with these words: ‘Your abbot was trying to tell you to assume the best in your mate… or at least ask.’
How many times do we assume the worst of people? We’re right. They’re definitely wrong. Tension builds between us. We might even avoid each other. Wouldn’t it be better to assume others have good intentions or be curious to discover why they disagree with us?
We could get defensive about unschooling or critical of anyone who thinks differently from us. Or we could remember the snakes that crawled into the nuns’ beds and realise we could learn something if only we’re willing to take an interest and engage others in conversation with an open mind. Not only will we understand more about those who have different opinions from ours, but we might also learn something useful for ourselves. We might even find ourselves on the same side.
We can’t control our lives. We should admit when we don’t understand something. And making assumptions is dangerous.
It could also be dangerous to stroll through the bush on a glorious sunny day. So, keep your eyes glued to the track and scan it for heat-energised venomous snakes.
And learn how to treat a bite. This is one occasion where it’s okay to learn things just in case.
Images
I don’t have a photo of the brown snake. I was too busy running to think about photos. But a couple of days ago, on a morning after overnight rain, I snapped these images of the bush.
So, I’m wondering:
Do you have a snake story?
Did you receive any good advice on your wedding day?
Do you get annoyed with or avoid others who see the world differently from you? I wonder if you like to assume everyone has good intentions. Do you ask questions to defuse the tension?
Why not stop by and say hello?
