Spricket Warfare

This past summer, my son's girlfriend enlisted me to "babysit" for her two bearded dragons while she went on vacation. I grew fond of the little guys (well, we think they're guys, but there's a certain amount of gender-confused behavior which has us referring to the latest arrival as "he/she"). I cleaned up their surprisingly smelly droppings and shuddered while shoveling live worms into their expectant gullets (after removing a tub of said worms from the refrigerator, where they were nestled alphabetically beside wieners and Waldorf salad). I drew the line, though, at tossing live, calcium dusted crickets into their tank so they'd have the thrill of the hunt. If I want to watch nature doing its predatory thing, I'll tune into the Discovery Channel, thank you very much.

Had I known I'd soon be facing an infestation of sprickets, aka, cave crickets, aka, things that make me go "Aaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!!!!" in the night, I might've saved the worms for a rainy day, parked the lizards in the basement, and let the two species duke it out. Alas, I was not so foresighted, so am left to take on the creepy critters with only the aid of a fly swatter and my 17-year-old son, whose devotion to me does not extend to playing Sir Galahad with eight-legged vermin.

These disgusting creatures have done more than gross me out - they've disrupted my whole schedule on several occasions. Since they make their home in the basement (read, my basement, for which they pay neither rent nor homage), I'm forced to go toe-to-toe with the nasty buggers anytime I seek the extravagance of a clean shirt. I've had varying levels of success in my escapades; yesterday I snagged two with the first swat, but this morning I had to clean up not only a cricket carcass, but also the remains of my breakfast, which had not quite finished digesting. JK. But trust me, it wasn't pretty.

Yesterday I was forced to rudely awaken - literally - a fellow believer, and I suspect my interruption was as unpalatable to this Christian brother as the aforementioned leggy pests have been to me. I could hear the discomfort in his voice. The distastefulness of the matter I brought to his attention. And yet the necessity of acting when one is called upon to act by forces over which one has no control. In short, I had no choice but to enlist the aid of this individual in a spiritual matter, and God left him no choice but to step up.

Oh, he could have said no. He did beg off for an hour or so, during which time I prayed God would equip him with whatever he needed to meet what was clearly a challenge to him. Judging by the call from him after he processed my request, he must have prayed and received guidance that this was, in fact, a mission from God, and not just an unpleasant chore to do on a rainy Saturday morning. The annoyance his voice contained earlier had morphed into softness. The coldness was replaced with warmth. I sensed I was speaking to a man who was stepping far beyond the bounds of his comfort zone into unfamiliar and messy territory - perhaps stirring memories that had buried themselves and didn't appreciate being unearthed.

But wait. It gets better. Later in the day I received another call from this brother. I hadn't expected that, frankly. I figured he would "do his duty" and that would be that. Instead, he wanted to chuckle with me over the fact that, despite his attempts to arrange things according to his own timetable, God had orchestrated events to suit His own purposes (imagine that). This veteran believer, whose knowledge and background in Christ far surpasses mine, seemed happily amazed at the Lord's doings. Like Jonah, who tried so hard to circumvent God's will, he ended up stepping right into it.

So what's the takeaway? I detest dealing with creatures that have the spindly creepiness of an arachnid combined with the high-jumping capability of Charles Austin; that said, I don't get to decide what takes up residence on my basement walls. I can scour websites to find out how to get rid of the nasty things, but in the meantime, I simply have to cope with what is. It's nice to know, though, that I don't have to be bested by something with limbs like bent spaghetti. With fly swatter in tow, I'm gritting my teeth and engaging the enemy.

I think my friend with the unpleasant task found much the same thing. God always equips us for what He asks us to do. Despite our foot-dragging, He also has a knack for getting us to the battlefield right on time.

"You armed me with strength for battle; You humbled my adversaries before me." Psalm 18:39