When the boys were growing up, we raised chickens for a while.  I never would have guessed you could buy chicks mail order, but that is exactly what we did, and about two weeks later the postmaster called with the message, "I have a crate of little biddies up here for you."
            We kept them in a box on the porch for the first few weeks and learned to live with the constant background of high pitched peeping.  Finally they were big enough to place in the pen Keith constructed for them, complete with a straw-lined, raised henhouse, nesting boxes, and an old tub full of water.  They were not likely to run dry with that thing sitting out there.
            At the appropriate time, about four months later, the hens began to lay eggs.  Soon we were gathering about a dozen jumbo-plus sized brown eggs a day.  Huge bowls of eggs filled my refrigerator.  You can only make so many pound cakes, quiches, custards, and deviled eggs before the masses begin to revolt.  And only a couple of us really liked eggs for breakfast every day.  When the church folks found out we were drowning in eggs,  half a dozen families offered to buy a dozen every other week or so.  We asked fifty cents a dozen back then, and both sides were thrilled with the deal.
            The boys fed the chickens and gathered the eggs every day (and fought off the rooster, but that's another story and another lesson for another day).  And we all learned a lot about chickens. For one thing, I never expected to need to wash such filthy eggs.  Not all of them, but enough.  When Keith saw them he said, "Grandma always said that chickens are the only birds that will foul their own nests."  
            Even though we were rookies, we had done everything right.  The hens all laid their eggs in the nesting boxes, taking turns because there were more hens than boxes, which is normal.  But evidently, one of them was lazy, and instead of leaving the nesting box to roost in the evening, it would remain in the nesting box overnight.  And let's just say, chickens are not exactly potty-trained.  From what I have read, no other bird does such a thing.  Between that and the prevalence of salmonella on raw chicken meat, one wonders why chicken is considered such a healthy meat, and how it ever made the "clean" list for the Jews.
            Chickens may be the only birds that do such a thing, and since they are domesticated rather than wild, it seems especially surprising.  Some Christians do surprising things as well, especially considering their claim to be better than the average sinner. 
            Why in the world should we have to tell a Christian not to drink?  Why should we ever need to suggest to a Christian woman that she needs to cover up a little more of her body?  Why is it that my neighbor might say to me, "Since you are a Christian I know you would never watch such and such a movie," while I know that several of my brothers and sisters did watch it and even bragged about it on Facebook?  I could go on, but you get the point.  Some things should go without saying, yet the shame is that they can't.
            And so we foul our own nests (homes and churches) with impurities just as filthy as a chicken's.  God wants purity in our lives.  That is the only way we will ever be fit to live with a holy God forever.
 
Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.  (1John 3:2-3).
 
Dene Ward

It was a hot, sultry August morning in the year that was so unlike any other, at least in my lifetime.  The world had gone crazy and despite having to deal with all that, we still had the usual, and not so usual, mishaps and illnesses, pain and sorrows.  I walked Chloe around the property, both of us wilting despite our sun protection as the summer heat of Florida rolled down on us.  My shirt dripped sweat at the hem and my feet faltered here and there as the weight of this world added to the weight of the heat and humidity.
            When I reached the gate a hawk flew over the western field and landed in one of those ubiquitous North Florida pines.  He sat there even as I continued toward him down the hill, his call far more insistent than the normal predatory cry of a hawk.  When I reached his tree I stopped beneath where he still sat, calling stridently, and began talking to him.  He quieted and sat there as if listening intently.  I wondered, could it be?  Could this be one of the hawks we had "raised" here on the property?  Could it be the one who, after his older sister flew, sat lonely in his nest in the tree next to the garden where I could talk to him every spring morning as I worked, the one who followed me around for weeks after he had learned to fly himself?  Could it be the one whose nest tree was struck by lightning, whom we rescued from the ground before a fox, coyote, or bobcat could find him, and placed in a homemade moss-stuffed milk crate "nest" until his mother could find him and care for him?  Could it be one of the many others we simply talked to in their nests day after day before they matured enough to fly away?  Can red-shouldered hawks live that long, I wondered, and found out later that yes, they can.
            He stayed on his piney perch as I talked to him a bit longer that morning, but Chloe was becoming antsy to continue the walk (and find the shade), so I left and headed further downhill.  Immediately the hawk began crying out, so I turned once more and told him to be patient, I would be back for another lap very soon.  But wild creatures operate on instinct rather than patience, and he was gone when I returned.  Still I wondered about him being there and this odd behavior, and, as I cannot seem but do, found a lesson in him.  Maybe God was reminding me providentially through this creature of His that He still remembers me, even in this strangest of years, that His eye so high is still keen enough to see where I am and what I need, and that He can find me among the billions of souls on this fragile planet we inhabit.
            As I walked across the field, unreasonably hurt by the bird's perfectly normal absence when I returned, a large shadow flew over me with an impossibly wide wingspan.  And once again I was called to remember:  God is always there when life treats us badly, whether I see Him or not, and I can always hide in the shadow of His wings.
 
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till these calamities pass by. (Ps 57:1).

(If you would like to see other hawk stories, click on the category "Birds and Animals" on the right sidebar.)

Dene Ward

We have had probably fifteen generations of cardinals grow up on our property since we put up our bird feeders, maybe more if they nest more than once a year as many birds do here in our warmer climate.  The first time the parents brought their adolescent children to our bird feeder, I was shocked. 

Everyone knows what beauties cardinals are.  The males range from bright fire engine to deep cherry red, a rounded breast of the same color, with a black Zorro mask, orange-red bill, and a full, high crest.  Even the more muted females are a smooth olive green to buff brown with fringes of red on their wings and tails, full crests, plus the same orangy bill and a bit of a black mask.  But the adolescents?  Can a bird be called "gawky?"  The colors range from scruffy gray to a spotty brown, with remnants of dirty-white baby feathers stuck here and there, and an ugly, gray bill.  They are usually skinny and their crests either as short as crewcuts or as stringy as a human head of oily hair, and sparse to boot. 

They remind me of human teenagers actually—that gangly stage where their legs and arms are too long for their bodies and the most recent growth spurt has left them looking like Elastic Man stretched to his limit.  But what happens?  You see them five years later and suddenly you have a beautiful young woman standing in front of you, or a handsome young man.  That's what happens.  And you know what?  All those gawky cardinals eventually become just as beautiful as their parents, too.  It's perfectly normal.

The same can be true of spiritual growth.   Sometimes a new Christian can be an ugly creature.  Especially if he has come straight out of the world, rather than growing up among us, he may still be slipping back into bad habits fairly often.  His language may slip.  His temper may flare in a less than godly way.  His choices may be every bit as unwise as they were before his baptism.  That's perfectly normal too.  Should it stay that way?  Absolutely not.  "Please be patient with me," should be an early request that grows less and less necessary, rather than something he clings to like ivy on a brick wall. 

I have watched the ugliest, gawkiest cardinal grow to be one of the most beautiful birds God made, so perfectly red that as he sits in my dark green jasmine vine he looks like a Christmas card—all that's missing is a little snow. 

I have seen new Christians do the same thing, but not until they have gone through that awkward growing up stage, tripping over their own feet and falling flat on their faces more than once.   Expect it.  Bear with him.  Be tolerant of his errors rather than deciding he will never make it.  You were once that awkward adolescent Christian yourself.

However, if you are indeed that babe in Christ.  Don't use it justify a failure to grow up.  Surely you do want to be that beautiful red cardinal someday, and as soon as possible.  That won't happen if you are still making excuses five, ten, twenty years down the road.  Or even if you make them tomorrow.
 
…until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children…(Eph 4:13-14).
 
Dene Ward

We’ve all seen those definitions of pessimism and optimism, the classic being the half-empty or half-full glass.  As a gardener, I’ve come up with my own.  When you look out over your herb garden, do you see beautiful brightly colored butterflies flitting around, or does your mind’s eye conjure up green caterpillars on naked parsley stems, their leaves stripped away practically overnight?  I have a friend who is overjoyed at the sight of a butterfly.  I often have a difficult time sharing her joy.

But I recognize the problem.  Pessimism can easily turn to cynicism.  We want to rationalize that by calling it “being realistic.”  But here’s the difference: 
Realism understands that you won’t save everyone (Matt 7:13,14).  Cynicism doesn’t even try. 

Realism knows that you are unlikely to change the mind of that misled young man in the white shirt and tie who knocked on your door with Bible in hand, but it greets him with kindness and respect.  Cynicism views him not as a lost soul, but as an adversary and approaches him with sarcasm and downright hatefulness.

Realism knows that perhaps even a majority of those who ask for help at the meetinghouse door are making prey of good-hearted brethren, but it takes the time to politely ask a few questions and determine an appropriate action just in case.  Cynicism immediately tars them all with the same brush and sends them on empty-handed, both physically and spiritually.

Realism is compassion tempered with wisdom.  “Be ye wise as serpents and harmless as doves.”  Cynicism is malice fueled by pessimism.  It looks for the worst, it expects the worst, and ultimately it rejoices in finding it.  That is about as un-Christlike as it comes.

So watch the butterflies today and enjoy them.  You can always check for caterpillars in the parsley later, and then rejoice when you only find a few.
 
[Love} does not rejoice at unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  1Cor 13:6-7.
 
Dene Ward

You would think that after well over ten years of watching these birds outside my window that I would have seen everything, but such is not the case.  I imagine I will still be sharing experiences with you for years to come.
            Take the latest.  Besides the trough outside my window, we also have two hanging feeders out in the yard, another on the corner of the field on the other side of the house, and two suet cages hanging by the window next to the trough.  The suet blocks in those cages get the most traffic in the cooler weather.  Suddenly, not just meat eaters (bug meat, this is) but also seed eaters who need more fat in the cold are thronging the things.  Access can be a problem.  With sparrows or wrens, several can and will hang onto the cages containing the suet all at one time, happily pecking away, share and share alike.  But larger birds take up too much room for that.  With a 4 by 4 inch block of suet, an 8 inch cardinal, or a 9 inch catbird, or a 10 inch blue jay have no room to share, even if they wanted to—which most of those varieties don't.
            Then there is the swing factor.  One cage is hooked to a tiny bar by a five inch chain, similar to a charm bracelet chain.  It sways back and forth a bit when a bird lands, takes off, or simply sits on the old TV antenna next to it and pecks at it, but the arc is fairly small and the swing barely noticeable.  The other one is hooked to a higher bar by a cord a good 2 feet long.  Now this one can really get to moving, both in a back and forth arc and also in rotation.
            The catbird loves suet, but he much prefers the cage on the short chain.  Devious me, when that one runs out, I leave it empty for a while and force the birds to use the one on the longer cord.  Otherwise it would never be eaten.  The first time that catbird landed on that cage it started turning like a merry-go-round.  He moved back a forth a bit, trying to counterbalance the rotation, but the more he moved, the faster it turned.  Finally, he became so upset that he started flapping his wings while still hanging on with his feet and before long the centrifugal force had nearly flung him off.  He flew away in self-defense.  But he does love that suet, so he keeps coming back.
            Yesterday he made a breakthrough.  He has finally learned that if he lands on it and stands totally still, it will eventually slow down enough for him to be able to lean over and peck the suet with very little sway factor or rotation.  He overcame his panic and let the laws of physics and gravity slow the turn simply by being still.  Can birds learn these things?  Well, I guess he learned something because we no longer break out in fits of laughter watching him rotate like a spinning top and somehow avoid being slung off into the azaleas.
            Sometimes we get just like that catbird.  Life starts throwing us around, flinging us back and forth, trying to completely throw us away from the very thing that can stabilize us and feed our souls—God.  If we just stop flailing about, stop going in all directions, stop trying to take care of things ourselves and just let God take control, many times the situations we find ourselves in will completely disappear, and the ones that don't will suddenly become more manageable.  I  know for myself that the very things that have kept me awake all night suddenly have simple solutions the next day when I just quit trying to control everything myself and hand them over to God.
            Back in the early 1960s a musical ran in London called "Stop the World I Want to Get Off."  It follows the life of a man who, every time something happened which he didn't like, cried out that title line.  In fact, the whole show stopped and he would talk to the audience about it.  The catbird, if he could have talked, might have said the same thing, and in the beginning did "get off" the suet cage, but he knew he needed that suet so he kept coming back and learned how to deal with it. 
            We can't get off the cage—or the world.  We have to learn, just like that catbird, how to cope, and we have a Father who will help us if we will only let Him.  So be still and let Him.
 
Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! ​The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. — Selah (Pause) (Ps 46:10-11)
 
Dene Ward

My big flower bed on the south side of the shed attracts butterflies by the score.  Every day I see both white and yellow sulfurs, tiny blue hairstreaks, huge brown and yellow swallowtails, and glorious orange monarchs and viceroys flitting from bloom to bloom.  Sometimes it’s hard to tell where the bloom stops and the butterfly begins amid all those big yellow black-eyed Susans, multicolored zinnias, and purple petunias. 
            But have you ever watched a butterfly?  If you and I decided to go somewhere the way a butterfly goes, it would take all day to get there.  We have a saying: “as the crow flies,” meaning a straight line course.  A butterfly couldn’t fly a straight line no matter how hard it tried—it would always fail the state trooper’s sobriety test.
            Some of us live our spiritual lives like butterflies.  We seem to think that waking up in the morning and allowing life to just “happen” is the way to go.  No wonder we don’t grow.  No wonder we fail again and again at the same temptations.  No wonder we don’t know more about the Word of God this year than last, and no wonder we can’t stand the trials of faith.
            Some folks think that going to church is the plan.  That’s why their neighbors would be surprised to find out they are Christians—Sunday is their only day of service.  Others refuse to acknowledge any weakness they need to work on.  It rankles their pride to admit they need to improve on anything, and because they won’t admit anything specific, they never do improve. 
            Some folks make their life decisions with no consideration at all for their spiritual health, or the good of the kingdom.  The stuff of this life matters the most, and only after that do they give the spiritual a thought, if at all, and it is to be dismissed if it means anything untoward for their physical comfort, convenience, status, or wealth. 
            The only plan they have for their children is their physical welfare—how they will do in school, where they will go to college, what career they will pursue.  They must get their schoolwork, but their parents don’t even know what they are studying in Bible classes, much less make sure they get their lessons.  It’s too much trouble to take them to spiritual gatherings of other young Christians.  And have you seen how much those camps cost?!  Probably less than a year’s worth of cell phone service and much less than the car they buy those same kids. 
            Where is the plan for this family’s spiritual growth?  Where is their devotion to a God they claim as Lord?  If their children do end up faithful, it will be in spite of these parents, not because of them.
            God expects us to have a plan.  The writer of the seventeenth psalm had one.  “I have purposed that my mouth will not transgress,” he says in verse 3, and then later, “I have avoided the ways of the violent, my steps have held fast to your paths,” (4b,5a).  He made a vow and he kept it.  He mapped his life out to stay away from evil and on the road to his Father.
            How are you doing as you fly through life—and it does fly, people!  Are you flitting here and there, around one bush and over another, out of the flower bed entirely once in awhile, then back in for a quick sip of nectar before heading off in whichever direction the wind blows?  Or do you have a plan, a map to get you past the pitfalls with as little danger as possible, to the necessary stops for revival and refreshing, but then straight back on the road to your next life?
            Do you know what the term social butterfly means?  It’s someone who flits from group to group.  Perhaps not so much now, but originally the term was one of ridicule.  I wonder what God would think of a spiritual butterfly who has no focus on the spiritual things of this life, but flits from one thing to other and always on a carnal whim rather than a spiritual one.  I wonder if He would decide that butterfly wouldn’t be able to appreciate an eternity of spiritual things either.

…And [Barnabas] exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith...  Acts 11:23,24.
 
Dene Ward

Have you ever seen a catbird take a bath?  I'll take that as a no, the looks I am imagining on your faces, that is.
            First let me introduce you.  He's a sleek, handsome fellow, slate gray, about 8 or 9 inches long.  A black cap perches on the crown of his head and down the back of his head, almost like a cropped mane.  His long tail has a rusty spot beneath it.  His lady friend looks the same, and they both mew like a cat, hence, the name.
            When this fellow decides he needs a bath, he plops himself into one of the water pans I put on top of the feeder posts.  Because of his size, he does better in the larger one, but I have also seen him in the one that is a good 3 inches smaller in diameter.  As large as he is, it's a wonder he doesn't fall out.  At first, he gives a little splash, then stops and looks around.  Then another splash.  Then another.  Finally, he begins in earnest, splashing so hard that the birds beneath him on the feeder get a shower while they eat.  Any sitting on the edge of the water pan run for cover.  Still he splashes.  As you watch from my seat in the house, it becomes impossible to see the bird for the amount of water splashing around him, and I know I will have to refill the pans immediately after he leaves.
            And then he stops.  You can almost see his little heart beating in that dark gray chest as he pants in recovery.  And he is soaking wet.  His feathers are plastered and dark against him, his black cap mussed and plastered as well.  When this bird has finished bathing, there is no doubt at all what he has been doing.  He is as wet as if he had immersed himself, even though the water was only a couple inches deep.
            That is exactly the way we need to immerse ourselves in our Christianity.  Going to church once a week won't do it.  Paying lip service to God won't do it.  We are expected to fill up on the Word every chance we get, talk about it, think about, study it, and espouse it when we can.  It should be second nature to mention God in our lives no matter who we are talking to.  We should be using our assemblies and other church functions as our excuse to miss worldly events, not the other way around.  In fact, we should be looking for other occasions to get together with Christians to study together and encourage one another.  That's what it means to be a disciple of Christ and a servant of the Lord.  That is the very definition of those words.  I should be so immersed in the Lord and His Word that I look as wet as a catbird to my friends, neighbors, and co-workers.  There should be no question in their minds exactly who I am because I not only claim it, I live it.  Always.
            Once upon a time you were immersed for the remission of your sins.  Now it's time for another immersion.  Do you need a bath today?
 
I have asked one thing from the LORD; it is what I desire: to dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, gazing on the beauty of the LORD and seeking Him in His temple.  (Ps 27:4).
 
Dene Ward

We had a storm a few days ago.  That in itself is not unusual.  Summer afternoons in Florida often include thunderstorms that go as quickly as they come.  But it reminded me of one we had a few years back, when Magdi, our first Australian cattle dog, was still alive.  It was not an ordinary storm. 
            You could hear it coming for about an hour, thunder in the distance, black clouds boiling in an increasing breeze that brought the smell of rain and ozone.  Finally the bottom fell out.  You could hardly see the bushes right outside the windows it was raining so hard.  Afterward, checks on the clock and the rain gauge would show that it rained 1.9 inches in 20 minutes.  Before long, we saw the fruit of Keith’s hours and hours of backbreaking labor, hauling dirt with a shovel and a wheelbarrow, creating a berm around the house.  It looked like we were on an island in the middle of a river, its strong current at least four inches deep as the water rushed down the slope, around the house, and toward the run to the east of us.  It would keep running nearly two hours after the rain stopped, and we drained just fine, but meanwhile I found myself humming, “The rains came down and the floods came up…”
            Suddenly lightning struck in the trees just across the fence to the north.  The clap was so loud I screamed, and even Keith, out in the shed without his hearing aids, heard it, and saw a ball of fire at the top of a pine at the same time.  He said Magdi shot out from her favorite place under the porch, eyes wide as saucers, circling here and there in the pouring rain looking for someplace safe.  He called her into the shed, normally a forbidden place, and petted her dripping and quivering sides until she calmed down.  We never saw Chloe until after the storm, but when we did, her tail was plastered down hard between her legs, the end of it curled up under her belly.  It didn’t come back up for two days.
            That reminded me of the Israelites’ reaction to God at Mt Sinai.  They were so terrified of the darkness, thunder, and lightning that they begged Moses that God would no longer speak to them.  I find Moses’ reply interesting:  Do not fear, for God has come to test you, that the fear of him may be before you that you may not sin, Ex 20:20.
            I think that might just be our problem.  We aren’t afraid enough any more. 
            I can remember when a certain phrase was not only forbidden in polite society, it was certainly never said on television or radio.  It was considered “taking the Lord’s name in vain.”  Now I hear it all the time, even from children.  When ten-year-olds have an abbreviation for it in their text messages, “omg,” something has been lost in our reverence for God.
            The Word of God is called a book of myths, even by people who claim to live by it, even by some who claim to be its ministers.  Religious people are pictured in fiction and drama as bigots, fanatics, hypocrites or maniacs. God, Jesus, Satan, and the struggle against sin are used as comic foils by entertainers.  When I start thinking about how far we have gone down this road, it’s a wonder to me that lightning isn’t popping around us constantly.
            We, the people of God, have even taken the concept of “the fear of God” and watered it down to the point that it means nothing more than the respect we might show our own fathers.  Isaiah, when he had seen merely a vision of God said, Woe is me, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips, for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts, 6:5.  Isaiah was feeling a whole lot more than simple respect.  If there was ever a time when he could overcome sin more easily, it was probably in the weeks and months after that vision. 
            I have a feeling that if we ever stood in the presence of God we would finally understand what the fear of God is all about.  Some day we will.  I just hope it is not too late.
 
Any one who has set aside the Law of Moses dies without mercy on the evidence of two or three witnesses.  How much worse punishment, do you think, will be deserved by the one who has spurned the Son of God and has profaned the blood of the covenant by which he was sanctified, and has outraged the Spirit of grace?  For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine.  I will repay,” and again, “The Lord will judge his people.”  It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, Heb 10:28-31.
 
Dene Ward

I had to look twice to be sure.  The cardinal that flew up to the small azalea limb a foot or two off the ground was bright red with the black Zorro facemask and his crest stood up straight and true, but he had no tail feathers at all.
              I wondered what consequences that might bring, but did not have to wonder long.  He flew out to the first feeder, perhaps fifteen feet away.  He almost hit the ground as he began and just barely made it to the feeder's perch about three feet off the ground, flapping harder than I have ever seen a cardinal flap in order to make the last foot.  He managed to eat a few pecks, but one of the other birds flew at him and he just managed to get away before he fell, swooping barely above the ground to a spot beneath the largest azalea.  Obviously, flying was difficult for him.  The next time I saw him, he came at almost dark, when the other birds had left and he could eat in peace.  Still, he had trouble getting up to the seed, and ate most of the time what had spilled onto the ground beneath the feeder.
              So I looked it up.  Why do birds need tail feathers? I asked Google.  And, as it does these magical days, Google answered.  For lift and stability at take-off, for steering in flight, and for balance when perched.  Without a tail, flight distance would be reduced, they could not soar, and they would have less lift and agility.  All those things I saw as I watched that cardinal that day.  The information went on to say that some birds would be helpless.  Hummingbirds would crash and sea birds would splash.  Doesn't sound like too good an idea to have no tail.  Probably this little guy lost his in a territorial battle or perhaps to a predator who wound up with tail feather for dinner instead of cardinal meat.  So in one sense, I guess he was lucky.  But it certainly made his life more difficult and his future survival chances less. 
              I think it must be obvious that our tail feather, so to speak, is the Word of God.  What helps us steer our way through life's obstacles?  What keeps us balanced and steadfast when we must perch on a precarious limb?  What gives us a lift when we need it and the ability to soar?  When we ignore the Word, when we think a thirty minute sermon once a week is enough, we might as well pull out our tail feathers and try to make it on our own.  Even with those feathers, a baby bird has to learn to fly and often tumbles from its nest on the first try.  Without them, he has little hope.
              Trying to make it as a child of God while ignoring His communication with us is spiritual suicide.  If you want to soar high above the predator over longer distances, perch easily and safely to nourish your soul, and steer around the trees rather than smashing into them, make that Word a daily part of your life.  Otherwise you are no better, no safer, than a cardinal without a tail.
              I didn't see that cardinal today.  How long will we see you?
 
Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.  (Isa 40:30-31).
 
Dene Ward

It happens every year, April and August, that's when the snakes start moving.  In April, I am not sure if they are newly hatched and out to find their own territory, or if the warmer weather just has them moving again after the cold-blooded lethargy of winter.  In August, maybe they are looking for a hole to stay warm in during the upcoming winter.  Whatever the reason, that's when we see the most snakes around here, April and August, which my boys and I began calling "the A months" after we noticed the phenomenon many years ago.
              Yesterday I went out to fill the bird feeders.  I had walked right past them half a dozen times as I circled the property with Chloe and had no reason to suspect anything.  As soon as I stepped in the fallen seed directly beneath the feeder closest to the house, something moved.  I had seen absolutely nothing until then.  But crawling away from me as quickly as it could was a juvenile Something Snake.  It took a minute to register that it had a diamond pattern on its back and its head was wider than its neck.  By then it had found shelter at the base of an azalea, amid several two inch diameter limbs that formed a nice little hidey-hole. 
              I dropped my bucket of seed and ran around the house to where Keith was blowing leaves (a spring event in our area).  Even without his hearing aids, he knew the look and the run and came back with me.  With our own version of sign language I explained, and we were both almost certain we were talking about a rattler, one so small (18-20 inches) that it had no rattles yet.  He had picked up a two by two and sent me in for the .22 rifle and ratshot.  As he stomped around the bushes, I stood out from them with rifle cocked and ready.  Ask my boys—with a gun I am death on snakes.  Nothing came crawling out of the limbs or leaves, so he picked up his blower, a heavy-duty gasoline model that would make a small snake feel like it had been in a category 5 hurricane, and we went at it again.  Still no snake, so we were sure it had crawled away while I had run off looking for help.
              After lunch (dinner in the rural South) we were out to finish up the interrupted feeding.  As soon as Keith stepped up to that same spot of fallen seed under the feeder, another snake took off.  Both of us jumped back, but it was only a garter snake this time, bigger, but not dangerous, and helpful with rodent control.  We were instantly reminded about "the A months."  Neither one of us had seen either snake despite looking right at the ground.  God gave these creatures camouflage and it certainly works.  But today as I made my rounds, my eyes never left the ground.  My ears stayed open for scaly slithers through the leaves and warning rattles.  I may think I am on guard constantly, but now I am on guard in a much more careful way than before.
              We need to beware of "the A months" in our lives.  We have already been bitten by the Snake, but he is still out there waiting to pump even more venom into our hearts at every opportunity.  So what are our "A months?"  Maybe it's one of those days when the traffic is particularly bad, you have a flat tire, and then spill coffee on yourself before you even get to work at a job where the boss is imperious and your colleagues unfriendly.  Maybe it's an illness that has you ready to nurture your grouchiness instead of trying to put it aside.  Or maybe the kids are especially loud while you are dealing with a headache and an air conditioner that's on the blink in mid-July.  Whatever it is, be aware.  Don't let the snake hiding in the grass get hold of you.  Carry a two by two or even a rifle.  Do whatever you must to avoid the danger. 
              We wish we had managed to find that baby rattler.  I am happy that he left our yard, but he is still out there in the nearby woods where he can find a mate and make even more of them.  The more times you beat the devil, the more times he will leave you alone, at least for a while, but if you let him win, he will come back the more often.
              It's an "A month" out there—for the rest of your life.  Be careful.
 
Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you…  (Jas 4:7-8).
 
Dene Ward