From Charles Towne
There was a time, way back when, that I used to collect stuff. When I was a kid I collected what to you normal folks out there would appear a bit strange. My mother stopped cleaning my room because some of my treasures were a challenge to her sense of decorum.
Take scat for instance, and if you don’t know what scat is, well, look it up.
I had a vast collection of scat. Raccoon scat, possum scat, muskrat scat, fox scat, etc. And then I was always dragging live critters home. Mama made a mistake once and looked in a wooden chest in my room where I was keeping about a dozen garden snakes. (It was about this time that I noticed that her hair was going a bit gray.) She released all my snakes, but understanding that nature abhors a vacuum, and the box being empty, I immediately put a beautiful, mean, snarling, smelly old possum in the wooden chest that had recently contained the snakes.
My poor mama. As the years passed some of my collectables became less gamey. At one time I had quite a nice collection of cannon balls, one of which was a seventy-pound monster that I thought added something to the décor of our living room. My sweet wife, the mother of my four adorably wonderful children was very patient, just like my mother. I came home for lunch one day somewhat out of sorts and when I walked through the door I noted this cardboard box in the middle of the floor. Like I indicated, I was not too happy so I drew back and kicked that box.
One of my adorable and wonderful children had put that box over my big iron cannon ball. When I kicked it the box didn’t move, not even a little bit, but my toes did. Anger is like that, it usually backfires. One thing I can tell you for sure is that when I kicked it I didn’t hurt that old cannon ball even a little bit.
Dear Papa God, Please protect us from ourselves, in Jesus’ name I ask it, Amen.
And make a difference, today.
Charles Towne is a longtime Apopka resident, member of Insp!re Church and a published author.