This was also featured as a sermon at the historic Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York City
as well as a nationally syndicated column with Gannett.
I am an ordained minister who is expected to teach people to “Love your neighbor.”
And I do.
But recently, I found an exception to that rule. Love your neighbor . . . unless your neighbor is a squirrel.
My discovery happened several weeks ago, when my husband, Toby, placed a fresh loaf of sourdough bread on our kitchen counter to cool. We left to run errands, only to return to find a giant hole gnawed through the kitchen screen and my enemy, the squirrel, sitting on the counter. While his eyes conveyed a “who me?” look, his bread-stuffed cheeks told the full story. Furious, we chased him around the house until Toby caught him in a fishing net and tossed his furry behind out of our home.
We repaired the screen, but several days later, the same thing happened again. A week later, we installed “chew proof” screen, and that afternoon, we discovered my now ARCH-enemy, the squirrel, with his head buried in a casserole of mac and cheese cooling on the counter.
Mac and cheese, people.
The book of Revelations 6:8 talks about such things: “And I looked, and behold a pale squirrel . . . and hell followed with him.”
Or was it a horse?
Either way. While you may not have a furry creature breaking into your home and eating your mac and cheese and sourdough bread, but we all have our squirrels—the things that wiggle their way into our psyche and eat at the good things in our life, the things that devour our sense of happiness and wellbeing before we even have time to taste them.
Maybe it’s the squirrel that sits on your shoulder and chatters that you don’t have enough money saved, that you might lose your job, or that you might not be able to pay your rent.
Maybe it’s the squirrel that burrows its way into every waking moment with worries that the tickle in the back of your throat is an early COVID-19 symptom.
Or maybe it’s the worry that your child, or you as a teacher, may have to return to the petri dish of a classroom this fall.
Whatever your squirrels, you must find a way to keep them at bay before they devour everything good and sustaining around you.
My suggestion? Follow our blueprint.
First, do what you can to screen out your squirrels. That may mean turning off the news every once in a while so you can avoid the headlines blaring at you 24/7. It could mean stopping the constant scrolling through social media posts. And it definitely means screening out the negative, judgmental people in our lives. (Can I have an amen?)
It’s amazing what a strong screen can do to hold at bay the things that gnaw away at our happiness.
But as Toby and I found out, squirrels can still get through even the strongest screens. That’s when you need a strong hand to toss them out of your house.
One such hand is a strong sense of self. Loving your neighbor doesn’t mean loving someone or something to the point of your own destruction. It doesn’t mean leaving your windows open so that the world can come in and eat away at your happiness. Remember, the commandment “Love your neighbor” came with a crucial counterbalance: Love your neighbor . . . as yourself.
While personal boundaries are important, Psalm 34:4 shares the most powerful hand we can find: “I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.” God is the only one who knows all the nooks and crannies where those pesky squirrels can hide. All we have to do is acknowledge our fear and ask for help. Then God will usher out the most troublesome invaders.
The moral of the story? Protect the good things in your life. Screen out your squirrels. And when the screen can’t hold, find a strong hand to toss them out. You are worthy of joy, and as a child of God, you have the right to all the mac and cheese life has to offer.