Suburban living has its perks, no doubt, but I lived my life from birth to age 17 in a house on the hillside. The country town where I grew up has a population of about 2,000, including the suburbs. Only there they aren’t called “suburbs.” They’re called “hollers.” That means “hollow” for city folk.
As a suburbanite, I avoid that word altogether.
However, I like to think I’m a well-blended country-suburbanite. I love the little house on my dad’s “farm” with its mismatched, if-we-like-it-it-stays attitude. Truly a treasure to visit there; our family’s visit this past weekend was no different. Tons of outdoor space for the kids to roam and romp. They certainly love it; said they wanted to live there. To which my mama head nod moved horizontally.
Especially after our first greeting was a bag of potato chips left on the table, nicely clipped, but eaten through by some small creature.
This creature graciously left excrement to prove that he had eaten more than his fair share of the chips. And after staying the first night, Mr. Mouse was found in the closet by my husband the next day. Upon discovering his presence there, we kept the door locked all day until my dad arrived with a trap, comforted that Country Mouse would not be going anywhere except mouse heaven or the great outdoors.
Country Mouse, however, had other ideas. We found him that night in the kitchen, poking his head out of the toaster, once the children were asleep. Comfort came when I realized that we would bid him adieu in the morning.
After spending a little extra time battening down the hatches, aka packing the minivan, I gave the little farm house a quick scrubdown and off we went. A short stop at my dad’s house in town and one more at the gas station in the next town over, then the journey continued for many miles without stopping. Over half way through our five hour drive, we stopped for lunch at Wendy’s.
Suddenly my husband was sitting in the driver’s seat with the door open and he felt something brush against his leg. When he looked down, Country Mouse was quickly scurrying on the blacktop parking lot.
We think he must have decided to visit his cousin.
Or make a new life under the alibi “City Mouse.”
Regardless, I’m thrilled to report that his hitch-hiking escapade did not cause any serious damage.
Truthfully though, I am so glad that neither my husband, myself or our five youngest children had a clue that the mouse was in the van. Because if you let your imagination loose for a few minutes, you can envision what it would have looked like for my dear husband to attempt to control a van full of screaming children…and a screaming wife… We had a designated journey and the mouse was simply taking the journey with us. We’re just blessed that his exit was an easy one!
God has a plan for you.
You may feel like you’re madly running in unknown territory, but the journey and destination God wants for your life is beyond your wildest mad running dreams.
He loves you.
Enough to send a poor country mouse to our minivan,
so that I could remind you of the fact.
Yes. He really loves us.