03/29/2004: "The Weasel"

The weasel was very cleaver and very adept. He could squirm and squeeze into the tightest cracks and steal the meanest chicken’s egg right out from under her. No farmer or dog could catch him. He was very proud of his ability to slip into tight places and steal eggs under the hardest circumstances. He was the fastest of all the weasels. He used to show off to the other weasels continually. Life was good and he was at the top. But one by one the weasels disappeared. The farmer or his dog got a few. Others wandered off because of fear of the farmer and yet other died in various ways. Soon the weasel was left alone.

Alone can be a terrible thing. What good is it to be able to slip and slither into the tightest spots when there is no one to see? What good is it to steal the farmer’s eggs when there is no one to notice? The weasel began to be fearful too. The other weasels had died maybe he would die. He no longer ran to be fast, or stole eggs. He slept a lot and stayed alone. He was very unhappy and miserable. He quietly crawled in to the hallow of an old log by the creek and went to sleep.

He woke with a start. The log was moving. There was a terrible sound like nothing the weasel had ever heard before. The weasel tried to leave but a chain had been placed over the opening and even though he could squeeze through tight places, he could not fit through this narrow slit left between the log and chain. It was just too small. The log was pulled up into the air swaying back and forth. The weasel circled in his hole in a panic waiting for a chance to jump and run, but it did not come. What kind of monster could pick up a whole log and lift it so high thought the weasel? He will eat the log and not even know I’m in it. The log was place on a big truck with other logs. It was the last log loaded. Then the truck took off. The monster has put me on his back and taken off running thought the weasel. But when the weasel peeped through the crack to see where the monster was taking him, he saw they were passing trees so fast they were just a blur. I thought I could run fast thought the weasel, but I’ve never seen anything run this fast. What kind of monster is this? It must be ferocious. I’m a gonner for sure.

When the truck finally came to a halt, the weasel scratched and squealed trying to get out. He wasn’t going to be eaten without a fight; he didn’t care how big this monster is. The farmer’s son was standing near the truck and heard the scratching and squealing. “What is that noise?” Asked the farmer’s son. “Sounds like a no good weasel” said his dad, reaching for his gun. “No, no, dad let me have it. Please, I will be careful with it, I promise.” the son pleaded.

“That weasel will bite the fire out of you,” said the farmer. “A weasel is nothing but trouble, always into mischief and no good. A weasel is a thief and a trouble maker I tell ya.”

“I will keep him out of trouble,” said the farmer’s son. “Please, just give me a chance. If he causes any trouble, I will pay for it out of my allowance.”

The farmer wasn’t too happy about it but he nodded and the boy ran to get a feed sack. Carefully he positioned the sack so that when the chain was moved the sack covered the hole. The weasel heard the chain being moved. The monster must be ready to make his move. He was going to make a run for it. But wait, this didn’t look right. Something’s over the hole; this smells like the chicken house. The weasel hung tight waiting for the feed sack to move.

The farmer’s son knew that weasels are smart, and that he wouldn’t jump into the feed sack, so he took a big stick and hit the side of the log right by the knot. The weasel could feel the whack of the stick vibrate through him. On instinct he jumped, landing straight inside the sack.

There he hung swinging back and forth, terrified. He screamed and hissed but to no avail. He was sure the monster had swallowed him whole and there he was swaying in his stomach. The farm boy took him to his room. There against the wall at the end of his bed was a good-sized cage. He had housed many different pets there at one time or another. The farm boy opened the door to the cage. Without untying the sack he put the end of it inside the cage. Then pulled the string quickly thumping the sack behind. The weasel jumped out of the sack into the cage, then the farmer’s son quickly shut the door.

What happened? Where am I, thought the weasel? He was confused. Hadn’t he been eaten? Had the monster spit him out? But one thing he knew he was still in danger. He circled and hissed never taking his eyes off the boy. The farm boy left and came back with a dish of water and food. He took a stick and poked it through the cage right in the weasel’s face. The weasel bit the stick, his sharp teeth sinking into the wood; he jerked the stick back and forth growling. He wasn’t going to die without a fight. The boy having distracted the weasel slipped the water and food in and shut the door.

The weasel was panting and thirsty, but he was not going to drink. He kept watching the boy. The boy sat down by the cage. He talked softly to the weasel for a while, but the weasel couldn’t tell what he was saying. Then he played his harmonica a while to calm the weasel down some. Then he turned out the lights and went to bed. The weasel was amazed at the way the boy had control over day and night. After sitting in the dark a while, the weasel went over cautiously and took and drink of water.

Day after day the boy would bring the weasel food and water, then sit down and talk softly or play his soothing harmonica. After awhile the stick was not needed to distract the weasel. He had come to know the boy was not going to try to harm him, at least not during feeding time. Then one day the boy put his hand in the cage. He wrapped a towel around his arm so the opening to the cage was totally closed off. Fear gripped the weasel. Here was the attack. He backed into the corner watching the boy’s every move, jumping at every sound. In the boys hand was a choice piece of meat from his dinner. The boy did not try to force the weasel; he let his hand rest patiently in the cage not moving. Talking softly, then after a while he removed his hand.

This went on for many days. After a few days the weasel stopped feeling threatened. Several times he even came and sniffed the meat in the farm boy’s hand and then darted back to his corner. Finally after many days he took the meat rushing back to the corner with it snarling. After many more days he would eat it calmly from the farm boys hand. The farm boy was ever patient and kind, always talking soft and gentle.

One day the farm boy reached up carefully and touched the weasel’s fur with his hand while he ate the meat then let it rest again. The weasel froze watching but did not run. Before long the farm boy could pick the weasel up and pet him. Then he would carry him around in his jacket, playing with him hours on end. The weasel didn’t really think about it but for the first time he wasn’t lonely anymore. He was really happy. The weasel and the farm boy had become best friends. The farm boy even tried to sneak the weasel into school a few times. But the mischievous weasel would get caught, his overwhelming curiosity always getting him into trouble. But after running up the teachers dress and causing her to almost faint, the weasel was forbidden to return to school.

One day as the weasel and farm boy were playing, the farmer called his son to come help him unload some feed sacks into the barn. The farm boy left the weasel on the bed and said now you stay here and don’t get into trouble, I’ll be right back. I mean it you wait here. The weasel played on the bed crawling in and out of the pillowcase. He had fun chewing the farm boy’s hat. Pushing the hat and then attacking it, that is until the hat fell off the bed. Down off the bed the weasel went after it. He pulled it under the bed and chewed a hunk off the brim. Suddenly he noticed something shinny behind the farm boy’s dresser.

Curiosity overwhelmed him and off he scampered to see what it was. There was a crack in the baseboard just behind the dresser and the crack led outside. Well that didn’t matter, because the farm boy had told him to wait and he was going to obey. But the more he looked at the hole the more it seemed to draw him closer. I bet I could fit through that crack said the weasel. Mind you not just any weasel could but I could. But no, I’m going to obey. He gnawed on the hat for a minute trying not to look, but the light from the crack seemed to beckon him. You know I bet if I just moved my shoulder to one side, I could get through that crack. Soon he was contorting and slithering through the splintered crack in the baseboard, fully absorbed in the task at hand. Then with one final tug he was outside in the light. Tada, he had done it. If only there had been someone to witness this great feat.

At first it felt great. All the sights and smells. The weasel peeked around the corner to see the farm boy helping the farmer load some feed sacks on a wagon. Just about that time he heard a snarling behind him. It was the farmer’s dog. He had killed many weasels and now this one was in the dog’s own back yard. The dog inched closer snarling and slobbering. His large teeth poised to bite. The weasel couldn’t go to the right or the left he was trapped.

His only hope was to go back through the crack in the baseboard. But the way the wood had cracked the splinters now stuck out toward the weasel. Now and as he tried to squirm his way back in, the splinters cut into his shoulder. The closer the dog came the harder he squirmed until he was miserably stuck and bleeding. He couldn’t get in and he couldn’t get out. The dog seeing the weasel was trapped inched in, getting ready for the kill. The dog leapt into the air his mouth open ready to grab the weasel.

Suddenly the dog jerked to a stop in midair and came crashing down to the ground. He had gotten so close his teeth actually grazed the weasel fur. What happened thought the weasel. Then he saw the farm boy’s hand firmly gripping the dog’s collar, dragging him away. He had come just in time. Just a split second later and …gulp.

“Not this time you don’t,” the boy was saying as he pulled the reluctant growling dog off and chained him up. The farm boy went over to the weasel. He dug in his pocket and took out his pocketknife. Carefully he cut the wood away and freed the weasel. Gently he picked him up and put him inside his jacket as he took him back to his room.

He got the tweezers, some medicine and gauze. He gently picked out all of the splinters, washed the wound, poured in the medicine and wrapped it in gauze. Even though the procedure hurt, the weasel didn’t try to get away. He felt so ashamed for disobeying. None of this would have happened if he had just done what he was told to do. When the farm boy was through the weasel sat on the bed and laid his head on his paws.

The farm boy called the weasel to come, but he wouldn’t even look at him. He felt so bad about disobeying the boy. Then the farm boy said. “I know all of your relatives died because of their mistakes and that you almost died too. But you are not dead. You must not be ashamed but learn from this, so you will not do it again. I forgive you.” Still the weasel hung his head and would not come.

“I have forgiven you for your mistake,” said the farm boy, “so why are you punishing me?” The weasel raised his head. Punishing the farm boy? What did he mean? “You make me happy,” said the farm boy. “We laugh and play and we are friends. I have shared the room my father gave me with you. But now because of your mistake you do not want to be with me. But I have done nothing wrong. By withholding yourself from me, you withhold my joy.”

The weasel thought about it. It was over and he was forgiven. He wanted to make the farm boy happy for saving his life, not make him sad. The weasel jumped into the farm boy’s lap and climbed up his shirt tickling him until he got to the neck opening. Then they laughed and played for hours, because they are after all the best of friends.

We are the weasel. Our fears and curiosity get us into so much trouble. The Lord Jesus is the farm boy. He is ever patient and gentle. Never pushing us, but just waiting until we can accept His love. When we mess up He is ever faithful to forgive us. We need to remember that we were created to fellowship with the Lord. When we do not receive His forgiveness, or return quickly to love on Him and let Him know how much we appreciate it, we are in essence punishing Him by withholding the love we were created to give Him, there by withholding His joy.

Accept the Lord’s forgiveness, He’s waiting to fellowship with you. He loves you.