I just wanted a little quiet time to myself.
I woke up around 6:00 am, excited that the house was soundless, children were still sleeping and the coffee already made. A perfect setting to study my Bible in peace, delight in caffeine saturated with Splenda and crème, and discern the message God would have for me this morning.
As I was preparing my cup of coffee – or as John calls it, my milkshake – I decided that it would be a nice treat to retrieve the paper from the end of my driveway so that my husband could read it before going to work. A fresh, crisp morning paper instead of the soggy, run-over-by-the-car-multiple-times newspaper he normally receives after arriving home from the office.
Grabbing my coat, I quietly headed out the door in my very cool bedroom shoes, still joyful about the quiet time that would be mine in just a few, short moments.
It was pitch black. Walking down our somewhat lengthy driveway, I thought I detected a small movement several feet ahead, causing my steps to slow, but not in a manner that was yet afraid. I cautiously continued my short journey until suddenly I heard a loud and frightful SNORT, one that might reasonably suggest a scary monster if any had recently been spotted in my neighborhood.
Behind the unpleasant snort was an even more unpleasant deer, surrounded by his snorty, unpleasant friends. My limited experience with deer in the past is that they are skittish creatures – scaredy cats if you will – but these I happened upon seemed freakishly confident and just a tad bit hostile.
The Master Snorter, sporting four antlers on either side of his aggressive head, looked me directly in the eye, drew a line across the driveway with his creepy hoof, double-dog- daring me to pass into his marked territory. (Not really, but he did make eye contact with me, followed by another mean snort which precipitated my next reflexive action.)
(Allow me a short side note. I live in the deep South, a place where babies are delivered from the womb wearing camouflage and then graduate to loading a shotgun by the age of two. Weddings, funerals and pregnancies are planned around hunting season as this southern past time takes precedence over almost all occasions, with the exception, of course, of anything having to do with NASCAR. Hunting is a big deal around these parts, which begs the question, WHERE ARE THE HUNTERS WHEN YOU NEED THEM?!)
Back to my story.
So, there we stood, the herd of deer blocking my way to the morning paper, giving me the evil eye while simultaneously flaring nostrils with mean-spirited snorts. I was hopelessly outnumbered and the freaky deer seemed unnecessarily antagonistic. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard of anyone being mauled by a deer or losing their life prematurely from a herd attack, but I wasn’t in a position to take that chance.
So, I turned tail and ran. In turn, the deer also ran, in different directions, and some unfortunately, in mine. As fast as my house shoes would allow, I sprinted up the driveway with pure panic in my bugged-out eyes and images of my ill-fated demise in my very freaked-out head. The sounds of scurrying hooves seemed to be all around me, and with an extra burst of speed that had to come from Jesus Himself, I flew up the stairs of our front porch and safely found the front door.
Regrettably, I lost my shoe, and my pride, in the process. And when John gets home tonight he'll have to read a soggy, run-over-by-the-car-multiple-times newspaper.
Welcome 2009. I have a nagging feeling that this is the way it’s gonna go this year…
But you knew it all along, didn’t you?