Heading Up the Stairs

Yesterday Jace was playing in the backyard when Roy and I drove up from somewhere, though I can't remember where. Anyway, he ran around the corner and said, "There's a huge black snake in our yard." So of course, Roy and I quickly ran back to see it. But it was gone. We looked around for a minute, checked out the bushes and peered down the hill, and then gave it up as a lost cause and headed back towards the front yard. Just as I neared the house, I noticed something black poking out from a piece of siding on the side of the house. "There it is," I said, grabbing a stick and poking at it, much to Roy's dismay.

"Leave it alone," he said.

But curiousity got the best of me and I kept tugging at it with my stick, trying to get it to slide out from behind the siding. It wasn't budging. It kept curling back up as I pulled its tail out with the stick until, finally, Roy, a bit exasperated, asked me to please give the snake a break already and leave it alone.

One time when I was about 8 years old, my grandpa sent me to the cellar for a jar of green beans. The cellar was out behind the house in a separate building. It had cracked concrete steps leading down to a cold, dark room filled with cobwebs and shelves lined with canned goods my grandma had canned over a hot stove during the Oklahoma summers. Grandpa stood up at the top of the steps, just outside, and gave me directions regarding exactly where I could find these green beans. But first, of course, I had to gingerly walk down the stairs and find the string that was attached to the switch that turned on the light when I yanked it just so. That part took me a minute as it was pitch black down in that cellar but finally, I managed to get the single light bulb to glow, waited a minute for my eyes to adjust, and then peered around at this dusty, dank room that wasn't much bigger than me. And as I looked around at the jars surrounding me, I noticed something slithering.

"Grandpa?" I said calmly, "there's a snake in here." And then I headed back up the stairs towards the light.

I am not a fan of snakes. They don't exactly leave me screaming like a little girl but I certainly wouldn't want one as a pet. Snakes and I? We don't connect. They remind me of darkness or things that slither in murky places. Recently we were peering into the "basement" of our house (which is a very poor excuse for a basement...we actually refer to it as the "Jeffrey Dahmer" room, if that means anything) and we saw this large -- very large -- snakeskin that had been shed. The thought that a snake the size of its shed skin resided underneath my house is not exactly an idea that I choose to consider too deeply. I'm not sure I could sleep at night.

I have a friend who is currently battling for her life. Diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, her outlook appears bleak.

Some of those I love the most in this world are struggling with conflicts that threaten to  rob them of the joy they so richly deserve.

Sometimes my own thoughts run wild, slithering through my mind and keeping me up at night.

Questions. Doubts. Insecurities. Struggles.

Surrounded by cobwebs.

Deep dark places...

And all we can do is head back up the stairs towards the light.