Deliverance Hamsters and The Geckos

Back when I was twelve years old, my middle school class had hamsters.

We began the year with two, but by June, we had a small tribe.

It was a good lesson for health class. 

It was also a good lesson for genetics, since the two original hamsters were closely related and thus produced mutant spawn.

Please know that when I use the term “mutant” I’m not talking about the cool “Spiderman” or “Fantastic Four” kind of mutants. 

I’m talking about the kind showcased in the movie “Deliverance”. 

These were backwoods, rural Appalachian, scary hamsters. 

It wasn’t pretty. 

Some of them were blind, some had stumps instead of legs, and all of them would pee on you when you tried to pick them up. 

So…come the end of school, the teacher asked who would like to take them home for the summer. 

No one wanted them. 

I, having not yet seen “Deliverance”, thought they were mildly cute and enjoyed the sound of their dueling banjos. 

I took them home. 

They lived about a month. 

I wish I could say that they died of complications due to their “inbredness”.

Unfortunately, they died from my neglect. 

One morning, I cleaned their cage out (it was one of those cool ones with two levels and a tube connecting them) and thought it would be nice for them to have some fresh air.  So I placed their nice clean cage in the shade on the deck, so that my little, incontinent friends could enjoy the morning breeze. 

But then things went South. 

My mom and I got in a fight over something (I can’t remember what) and then discovered that we were late for an appointment.  We ran out the door and rushed off. 

Now, here’s the funny thing about planetary movement. 

The spot where the shade is in the morning is not where the shade is in the afternoon…..what with the rotation of the Earth and all. 

And so, we returned to find our furry wards baked inside their cedar chipped habitat by the noonday sun. 

It was truly as terrible as it sounds. 

We gave them a proper burial by the shed in the backyard. 

Fast forward to this weekend. 

Laura works in a middle school where the science teacher has several animals for the students to enjoy.  This includes two gecko lizards named Izzy and Lizzy. 

Since our kids love animals but don’t have any pets of their own, we volunteered to keep them for the weekend. 

They came with instructions. 

1) Pick them up from behind their front legs. 

2) Don’t grab them from behind their front legs.  You’ll crush their lungs.

3) If they get scared, their tails will fall off. 

4) Handling them, looking at them, or taunting them, will scare them.

5) If they get too cold, their tails will fall off. 

6) Reading this list will make their tails fall off. 

With my history of killing class pets, I was a nervous wreck. 

Brehm, however, LOVED them.  His favorite thing to do was to hold them firmly, but gently, in his hand and pet their backs.  Apparently the geckos liked this because their tales never fell off. 

They would just rest in his hand while Brehm watched TV. 

Eventually I relaxed enough to let them climb up my shoulder and onto my head. 

They looked just like the Geico gecko but they never offered us insurance. 

I guess they considered us a risk. 

Lately I’ve been fearful that God is more like me than like Brehm. 

That He will start to do something to bless me but then get distracted and leave me to bake.

I’m not sure why this is. 

Everything in the Bible and everything I’ve experienced these past few years indicates that I can trust God.  That he will not neglect me the way I neglected those inbred hamsters. 

And so this weekend I’ve been praying that I would be more “geckoish”.

A fragile creature resting in strong but gentle hands. 

I’ve also been thankful. 

Mainly I’ve been thankful that, no matter how scared I get, I don’t have a tail that can fall off.

Security

I, like many men, have a super-spy fantasy. 

In this imaginary world, I appear to be an ordinary, mild-mannered citizen but underneath that innocuous exterior is a lethal, highly trained man of mystery and intrigue. 

While I know it’s a pretty common daydream, I admit that I’m a bit embarrassed about it. 

I’m embarrassed, partially because I’m a grown man with a ridiculous imagination and partially because, as anyone who knows me will attest, there is nothing lethal, highly trained, or mysterious about me.

But I’m working on that. 

Thus far, the efforts to increase my “spyness” have included:

1. Increasing the level of black in my wardrobe

2. Keeping my eyes opened for a good pair of sunglasses. 

3. Begging any friend who owns a gun to take me to the shooting range.

I know none of these things will have the CIA knocking on my door like, say, learning fluent Farsi, but, hey….I can hope. 

AGENT 1: “Mr. Moritz, come with us.  The President needs you.”

ME: “It’s about time!”

The problem with this fantasy is that, in recent years, I’ve become increasingly self-examining. And nothing ruins a good fantasy like asking yourself “why” you have it in the first place. 

It’s kind of like asking what’s in a hotdog. 

Once you know, you don’t enjoy eating them anymore.  

And so, for example, it’s not enough that I realize that I prefer Starbucks or I actually enjoy shooting guns. 

I have to ask myself “why” I like those things. 

Do I like overpriced coffee because I REALLY like it, or am I seeking some sort of identity in being seen holding a white cup with a green mermaid on it?

Do I REALLY like shooting with friends or am I seeking some sort of affirmation of my masculinity and the sense of personal security that a gun can bring? 

Truly, if left to my own devices, I’d make myself crazy because, like the Bible says, a man doesn’t even know his own heart. 

Only God does. 

And so, I’ve had to ask God to reveal my motivations to me…in all things.  And sometimes the answers God shows me are mixed. 

I actually do like Starbucks coffee and enjoy the ambience of the store. 

Yay!

But I also feel “rich” when I drink it and so I tend to crave it when things are tight financially and I want to pretend that they aren’t. 

Doh!

The same is true with guns. 

I truly do enjoy them.

Yay!

But part of the enjoyment is that they are an easy antidote for fear because they make me feel powerful and cool.

Doh!  Doh!

With both of those scenarios, the key is security. 

If I’m not careful, I can become a security junkie.

I like to feel comfortable, safe, and in control. 

I don’t like stress or difficulty. 

And, while I know that God is the ultimate source of security and refuge, too often I seek that elsewhere.

But the reality is that, whether it’s a cup of coffee, a firearm, a 401K, stylish clothes, or a President, if my sense of hope and security is in anything but God, it’s misplaced. 

And that’s a worship problem. 

That’s a trust problem. 

Now that I’ve gotten you all to be as neurotic as me about your choice of clothing and coffee let me say this:  None of the things I’ve mentioned are “bad” (for the record, I’m typing this as a wonderfully delusional Americano steams sweet nothings next to me). But I believe an essential part of being a follower of Jesus is that we ask Him these sorts of questions and then pay attention to the answer.  We need to allow the great lover of our souls to reveal the inner workings of our hearts, and then let Him bring healing so we can find our rest in Him.

And that’s where security is found.

Now if you’ll excuse me, the President needs me.