Leaning on the Everlasting Arms

I sure am glad that God is God and I am not. I just couldn’t take the pressure. How does God stand it? Anxiously watching as we muddle our way through life? We make mistakes. We expose ourselves—sometimes completely obliviously—to untold dangers. We are just so vulnerable. Oh the stress! Oh the anxiety! Oh the absolute emotional torture! Whew. It’s a good thing that God is God and I am not.

Let me explain why this is coming to the fore at this moment in my life. You see, I am now responsible for a precious family of ducks. Twelve darling tiny yellow ducklings hatched in my front yard just over three weeks ago. Not wanting to interfere too much with their natural instincts, I left them in the front. But that was torture for me. In between dogs, hawks, cats, over-zealous children, and one creepy guy in a black Ford, I hardly got any rest that first week. My husband finally took pity on me and moved them into the backyard. Finally I could relax! They were safe. They were fed. They were happy. And Mama Duck could fly over the fence any time she wanted a break. It was a perfect solution.

Until one Saturday morning we awoke to find one of the ducklings missing. It was just gone. No trace. Was it a cat? Very likely, but it also could have been any number of other predators. I fretted all day about whether or not it was wise to keep them locked in the back. Perhaps Mama would feel safer—and actually be safer—in her original nest out front. After vacillating repeatedly all day—second-guessing myself and then second-guessing my second guesses—I let them out about 7:15 that evening. I thought for sure that Mama would head straight for her old nest. It was bedtime, after all, for the ducklings and dinnertime for Rachel and me. (Unfortunately, Lindsay was out of town, which becomes a very crucial detail later in this story.)

Mama went to the nest. Babies followed. Rachel and I turned to go inside. But then Mama got back out of the nest and proceeded to cross the street, waddling toward the park. Mama! What are you doing? It’s bedtime! Evidently, it was swim time because into the pond they all went. They swam around awhile, tried to get out once, got chased around by a mean goose, and eventually settled on the opposite side of the pond from our house. And it gets worse. With the goose in hot pursuit, Mama had no other option than to sit on the six-inch wide ledge of the water overflow pit. (I’m sure it has a technical name, but as I’m not an engineer, “water overflow pit” is as good as you’re going to get.) It’s a giant open concrete pit in the middle of the pond where excess water can go. And all the babies were perched on the six-inch wide ledge along with Mama.

By this time it was getting dark. Rachel and I decided to walk around the pond and try to coax Mama back to shore and to the safety of our house. As we got close, we understood why Mama decided to spend the night in such a precarious place. One of the babies had fallen down into the pit—an approximately eighteen-foot drop. I could hear its pitiful chirp echoing up into the night air. My heart sank. They were all doomed. In my mind’s eye I could see each duckling slipping down into that pit as the night wore on. After everything we had gone through to keep them alive, we were going to lose them all in one fell swoop just because I gave in to my second guesses. I could hardly stand to be inside my own skin. I felt like crying and wailing and hyperventilating all at the same time. Rachel saw the insanity in my face and said, “I wish Mama had never had her babies in our yard.”

I staggered home and placed a panicked call to Lindsay. I got his voicemail. I placed a panicked call to my brother. “I thought we decided that you would keep them in the yard tonight.” Not helpful. I called the Fire Department. “We don’t do that.” I called Animal Control. “It is after hours. If you are having an animal emergency, call 911.” I called 911. “I’m having an animal emergency.” “What kind of animal emergency?” “Well, you see, I’ve been taking care of this family of ducks and now they’re stuck on the other side of the pond.” I sounded stupid even to my own ears. “They won’t come out for that,” she said.

“Well,” I thought to myself, “If they won’t come out for a stranded family of ducks, then maybe they’ll come out for a stranded crazy lady.” By now it was after 11:00 PM. I grabbed my laundry basket, a yardstick, my cell phone and Rachel’s hand and said, “Come on Rachel. This may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m going to do it anyway.” When we got to the other side of the pond, I left Rachel on the sidewalk, taught her how to call 911 on the cell phone, and made my way down to the shore. I tested the depth with the yardstick, prepared to go in with anything below the neck. I was willing to do a lot for those ducks, but I wasn’t going to tread water in a lake filled with who-knows-what in the middle of the night.

To my great relief, the water was less than three feet deep. Piece of cake! In I went. And into the laundry basket went ten befuddled ducklings. Giddy with the success of our rescue mission, Rachel and I carried the ducklings home and put them in her bathroom. Then we rearmed with a flashlight, my neighbors’ pool net, the trusty laundry basket, and the cell phone, of course. My plan was to shine the light down into the pit and scoop up the last duckling with the pool net. Mama would surely follow. But when I got over to the pit, there was no duckling—only one dead turtle. And yet, I could still hear the chirp. Could there be another way down there? I decided to check it out.

Dodging what I am fairly sure was a water moccasin, I made my way through the creek and into the drainage tunnel. And there was Mama with the last duckling! We rescued the duckling first and then went back with the kitty carrier for Mama. Finally at 12:15 AM, Mama and the Eleven were reunited in Rachel’s bathroom, and Rachel and I sat down to supper. Twenty minutes and a shower later, I sank into bed—exhausted but exhilarated—and very grateful to spend the night safe in the everlasting arms of God.

Copywrite 2008 J Churchman