What’s Hiding Under the Bed?

There was a time in my life when I was the hero of the world. At least according to my children. Before bedtime each night, I was the monster-killer, house-protector, danger destroyer. The kids knew no harm would befall them if Dad was on the job. After all, what monster could stand a chance against the might of Super Dad? 

It was a great season, but as you know, seasons change. One day, the unexpected happened.

The routine was the same. Bedtime prayers…check. Lights out…check. Security sweep of the newly darkened room…check. As usual, all clear.

Then came the unexpected.

“Dad, there is a monster in my closet.”

“I’ll check it again, son,” I replied in my most heroic fatherly voice. 

“All clear, no monsters.”

“Dad, sometimes it is under my bed. Check there.”

Dutifully, I got down on floor level and peered under the bed. As expected, nothing. I reassured my son and encouraged him to close his eyes and head off to sleep.

“Dad, are you…sure?”

Looking back, I probably should have detected a higher than usual level of anxiety in his voice. But I was a hero, not a detective.

“Absolutely positive!”

As a side note, as a parent, whenever you say you are absolutely positive about something, be prepared to be absolutely mistaken.

Covers were pulled up tightly, and a kiss on the forehead sent him off to sleep and me off upstairs to call it a night. As I reached the stairs near the back door of our house, something caught my eye that startled me.

There, by the door, was a bag of dog food. That wasn’t the startling part; I often left it there to feed our dog outside.

It wasn’t even the fact that the bag was turned on its side and open. 

No, I think the startling part was…THE BAG WAS MOVING!

As I watched the bag convulse as if it were demon-possessed, out popped a tail. A large tail at that! I yelled (someone said I screamed like a girl; the details are foggy) and down the stairs rushed my wife, who I am sure thought I was being attacked. As she reached the bottom stairs, an unhappy possum shot out of the bag as if it had been fired from a cannon. I say unhappy, and I feel certain it was, because it came at us baring its teeth, furious and rabid if I were to guess. Now I’m no possum expert, but I think this was a mutant possum. Looking back, I feel sure it must have weighed as much as I did. This wasn’t a cute baby possum. No, this was one of those killer possums you hear about on the news. It was a thing of nightmares, trust me…I still have them.

The possum lunged at us, reared up on its hind legs and spewed forth what I can only imagine was a tirade of possum profanity. In perfect possum dialect, it made threats against my family, insulted my momma, and made fun of my house. We stood there in shock (fear). With a final hiss, the possum ran underneath the couch and disappeared.

This is the part of the story where I would like to say that the hero rose within me.

It did not.

Once the possum disappeared, I wanted to as well. He certainly wasn’t happy, probably had rabies, and I didn’t want to mess with him. Seeking him out was not something I wanted. I didn’t want him in the house, but I didn’t want to have to remove him either. I’d rather just leave him alone. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do, but whatever it was, I wasn’t crazy about doing it.

But here is the thing: I had my lovely wife and children in the house. Left unchecked, that beast would tear up my home and possibly harm the ones I love the most. I simply could not let that happen…even if I didn’t want to confront the possum.

We devised a plan. Tonya held a giant yardstick like a samurai warrior. I opened the back door. I slowly approached the couch and began turning over section by section.

Grabbed the first section and turned it over. No possum. Whew.

Next section…Tipped it over. No possum. 

Last section. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. I grabbed the couch section and flipped it…there it was. Possum–and it wasn’t happy. If looks could kill, I would have been dead immediately. He was not a playing possum! It lunged at me. Now, I am a relatively courageous guy, but I jumped higher than is humanly possible. It must have been quite a sight because the possum froze. Tonya was swinging the makeshift ninja sword at it.

I think it started laughing. Or mocking.

Whatever it was doing, it was confused just long enough for me to make my move. In one deft move, with a kick worthy of Hall of Fame consideration, I booted the possum out of the house. Door shut. House safe.

In the subsequent days, we found two other possums in the house. Trapped them and got them out as quickly as possible. Unbeknownst to us, there was a hole in the floor of our house. The possums had eaten through the insulation under the house and were entering the hole…in my son’s closet. Ok, so there really were monsters in his closet.

As I think about it now, sin is a lot like those possums. It creeps in subtly. We may not even realize it is there. Others may see it, but we often try to ignore its presence. And when confronted with its reality, we may not want to deal with it. We may even hope it goes away on its own. But sin is deadly. If left unchecked, it will tear up our homes and hurt our families. We must confront it. The process can be messy, painful, and uncomfortable, but we have to remove that sin from our life. The alternative is much too damaging.

Paul said in Colossians 3:5-7, “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived.” 

In other words, don’t let sin hide out in your home or life. It may have once had a home there, but it’s no longer welcome. Look for it, and when you find it, get rid of it, swiftly. Your family will be glad you did.

I must confess. I didn’t tell the kids at the time about the possums. What they didn’t know would hurt them, right? We remained out of the house for a few days until the hole in the closet was fixed and we were absolutely sure all possums were gone. After the all clear, the kids came home none the wiser as to what had transpired. Bedtime approached, and as my son entered his room, he looked intently for a few moments at the closet, looked under the bed, climbed into his bed, and pulled up the covers.

“Huh, all the monsters are gone…”