(October 22, 2013) Our Texas porches want pumpkins in autumn, despite the warm temperatures. Without much color in the trees, we depend on pumpkins and chrysanthemums to announce the season. I’ll set my favorite yellow and deep orange mums atop a weathered bench on our front porch, and add a few pumpkins to complement their glory.
I’m a fair-weather gardener, so it takes a fine October day to bring out the ounce of Martha Stewart in me. It was just that kind of balmy weather when I grabbed my old metal bucket, and filled it with essentials: garden shears, a pint-size watering can and fertilizer. But a strange notion stopped me short of the front door: There’s a snake on the porch. My well-worn garden clogs stood waiting for my feet to move.
I don’t like snakes, even harmless, beneficial ones. I don’t want them around. But I hadn’t seen one for a long time. And why would I think a snake was on the porch? I’d never seen one there before.
I pushed aside the gauzy window curtain. All clear. Even so, I parked the bucket and resumed household chores instead.
Later, I peeked out the curtain again. Nothing but pumpkins. As I reached for my bucket, the compelling thought returned: There’s a snake on the porch.
Perplexed, I went to sit down on the den sofa—my place for prayer. “Lord, this is so strange. Are you warning me about a snake?”
An unexpected “answer” came as I recalled my last snake encounter. Months ago, I’d been standing on the back patio with our terrier, when he practically flew down the steps, into some Nandina bushes. When a long snake darted from the bushes to the grass, Rufus searched frantically along its path across the yard. As I watched—knees knocking—I realized the old “snake in the grass” saying was true. The snake remained perfectly still and hidden, until it suddenly slithered under the wood fence to the neighbor’s yard.
For days afterward, I’d been afraid to cross the yard to my garden. Finally, I sat on a patio step to pray: “Lord, I want to work in my garden. Could you please keep me from coming upon a snake?”
I’d forgotten all about my snake prayer, until now, sitting on the sofa. I sat a while longer, amazed at a God who not only hears us, but remembers our prayers. Why should I fear a snake when such a heavenly Father watches over me?
I went to retrieve my bucket, and opened the front door—cautiously—just in time to see a rather cute little snake glide away from behind a pumpkin.
By Blue Ribbon News special contributor Patti Richter of Heath, journalist who writes news and feature stories, book reviews and more for Christian publications.
By Blue Ribbon News special contributor Patti Richter of Heath. Patti is a journalist who writes news and feature stories, book reviews and more for Christian publications.
Read more by Patti Richter:
Does your faith travel?
Mother of the Graduate
The God who heals
Not forgetting the least of these
Beholding wonders
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