Living Between the Promise and the Possum

            This is the city. I work here. I sit in the recliner here. It’s my city. It was a hot humid, night in Springfield. I was working the nightwatch out of the Canine Division. My partner, Beverly, had already gone to bed. It was Friday. I had just released our two Chihuahuas, Mariachi and Tyrannosaurus out the back door to make their regular contribution to the research into the viability of methane gas as alternative fuel. They like doing research and on this particular night they were felling especially supportive.

            I went to the refrigerator for a light snack. I ate a 15-watt bulb. When I burped, my eyes lit up. After ten minutes I opened the door to let the dogs in. They ignored me and were looking in another direction and barking. Dogs are known to bark at the drop of a cat but this was unusual even for my Chihuahuas. Then I saw it. They had cornered a possum on our grill, six months before the local Wild Game Dinner. 

            My immediate concern was for the dogs’ safety. This was their first possum. Because they refuse to watch The Beverly Hillbillies,” they weren’t prepared.  Chihuahuas have the brains of a squash and they fear no animal. That is a dangerous combination, like a husband with a do-it-yourself manual or a blond with a nail gun – as in the statement, “I didn’t know I could do my nails with a gun!” The dogs kept barking.

            My partner had awakened and wandered back into the kitchen, disturbed by her babies’ cries of panic. I told her everything was fine. We have a possum on the grill. She said it sounded might tasty but she wasn’t hungry. I pointed to the possum. He looked at us like he wanted to speak but didn’t really know what to say. Possums, like Hollywood actresses at the Oscars, love showing their teeth. This one was different. He just sat on the grill, shaking and cowering, with a puzzled look on his face that said, “I didn’t know rats could bark.” The dogs finally came inside and the possum eventually went home. (The story you have just read is true. The names of the dogs were changed to protect the privacy of their stupidity.)

            I have never perched on a grill but I have been in the possum’s position. I have felt the breath of barking dogs, literally and figuratively. How about you? Do you ever have days when you feel like the hounds of discouragement and worry are after you? Does the pressure to succeed in life constantly nip at your heels? Is the stress of parenting dogging you day after day? Has depression ever grabbed you by the throat in a grip so tight you thought you would never be released?

            The Psalmist says, “he alone is my refuge, my place of safety, for he will rescue you from every trap . . . He will cover you with his feathers . . . His faithful promises are your armor and protection . . . do not be afraid of the terrors of the night” (Psalm 91:2-5 NLT). Throughout God’s Word He promises His presence. We don’t need to cower when the dogs of life have us surrounded. God is with us. His promises are real.

            Unfortunately, so is our lack of faith. It is difficult to stand on the promises when we are posturing with the possum. I guess that’s where a lot of us live . . . somewhere between the promise and the possum. Just remember, we will always have the barking dogs but with God’s help the possum will go away.