Stepping over the threshold from my garage to the side yard, holding a full trash bag in my hand, the sound of something rustling in the leaves nearby startles me. I’m a bit jumpy this time of the year. I live in a part of the country inhabited by almost every species of snake. Walking barefoot in the summer is an extravagance I don’t allow myself.

As I look from side to side, scan the grass, inspect the flower beds and barbecue, I remember the source of the sound that reverberates. A blush-cheeked skink lives a few feet down the sidewalk, behind a drain pipe, nestled among leaf litter. Though the sight of a giant lizard isn’t less creepy than a snake, I can see his frozen stance like a picture hanging on a brick wall in the crevice. I know he is more afraid of me than I am of him.

And I’m the only one who knows about the skink setting up residence in this secret place. I’m the gardener in our family.

It suddenly occurs to me that my son squawks in certainty about hearing a slithering snake, every time he takes the trash out. I just happen to be doing his job on this day and realize it’s not a snake threatening my son’s peace, but a harmless skink.

I wonder how many times I have done this; withheld information that seems trivial when sharing it would be a gift, like a prophetic word. When I offer prayerful, sometimes seemingly insignificant impressions with others, it is an act of the deepest kind of vulnerability and yet reveals the most profoundly courageous truth. God is asking me if I’ll risk looking foolish . . . .

Today I’m guest posting at Anita Mathias’ blog, Dreaming Beneath the Spires, ranked #11 most influential blog for Religion and Belief in the UK. You know how much I love England and she lives in Oxford! Join me for the rest of the story here. I’ll meet you in the comments. 


Linking with Jennifer for #Tell His Story.