Last night I found a little star-nosed mole shivering on the ground in my backyard when I went out for my goodnight cigarette. I thought of Jesus and what he used to say about the blind and how they will inherit the earth or lead the sighted or something. Moles are to be protected, I thought. They are helpless and it is Christmas.
I picked him up in my warm little hand and brought him inside. Tucked him in a shoebox with some old socks to keep him warm. Then I got distracted. I ate some cookies. I started fiddling with the CDs on my desk. Then I put in a movie and fell asleep.
When I woke up the mole was gone, the shoebox empty.
He is probably hiding in my laundry pile right now, digging tunnels in my underwear. I may not find him before he goes in the washing machine. Poor little mole.
I wonder if this is how God feels when he tries to help us. Of course, this statement assumes a lot.
