Mouse-Hater


Ever tried to convince a mouse not to worry? Ever succeeded in pacifying the panic of a rodent? If so, you are wiser than I. My attempt was not successful. My comforting words fell on tiny, deaf ears.

Not that the fellow deserved any kindness, mind you. Because of him, Denalyn screamed. Because of the scream, the garage shook. Because the garage shook, I was yanked out of dreamland and off my La-Z-Boy and called to defend my wife and country. I was proud to go. With shoulders high, I marched into the garage.

The mouse never had a chance. I know jujitsu, karate, tae kwan do and several other ... uh, phrases. I've even watched self-defense infomercials. This mouse had met his match.

Besides, he was trapped in an empty trash can. How he got there only he knows, and he ain't telling. I know, I asked him. His only reply was a mad rush around the base of the can.

The poor guy was scared to the tip of his whiskers. And who wouldn't be? Imagine being caged in a plastic container and looking up only to see the large (albeit handsome) face of a human. Would be enough to make you chuck up your cheese.

"What are you going to do with him?" Denalyn asked, clutching my arm for courage.

"Don't worry, little darlin'," I replied with a swagger that made her swoon and would have made John Wayne jealous. "I'll go easy on the little fellow."

So off we went-the mouse, the trash can, and me, marching down the cul-de-sac toward an empty lot. "Stick with me, little guy. I'll have you home in no time." He didn't listen. You'd have thought we were walking to death row. Had I not placed a lid on the can, the furry fellow would have jumped out. "I'm not going to hurt you," I explained. "I'm going to release you. You got yourself into a mess; I'm going to get you out."

He never calmed down. He never sat still. He never-well, he never trusted me. Even at the last moment, when I tilted the can on the ground and set him free, did he turn around and say thank you? Did he invite me to his mouse house for a meal? No. He just ran. (Was it my imagination, or did I hear him shouting, "Get back! Get back! Max, the mouse-hater, is here"?)

Honestly. What would I have to do to win his trust? Learn to speak Mouse-agese? Grow beady eyes and a long tail? Get down in the trash with him? Thanks, but no thanks. I mean, the mouse was cute and all, but he wasn't worth that much.

Apparently you and I are.

You think it's absurd for a man to become a mouse? The journey from your house to a trash can is far shorter than the one from heaven to earth. But Jesus took it. Why?

He wants us to trust him.

Explore this thought with me for just a moment. Why did Jesus live on the earth as long as he did? Couldn't his life have been much shorter? Why not step into our world just long enough to die for our sins and then leave? Why not a sinless year or week? Why did he have to live a life? To take on our sins is one thing, but to take on our sunburns, our sore throats? To experience death, yes- but to put up with life? To put up with long roads, long days, and short tempers? Why did he do it?

Because he wants you to trust him.

Even his final act on earth was intended to win your trust

He Chose The Nails, p. 89 -91. Copyright. W Publishing, 2000,Max Lucado. Used by permission.

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