On Being a Squirrel

I have discovered that I am actually a squirrel. Not as energetic, or grey (yet), but definitely a squirrel.

I first notice this in autumn, when the creatures can be seen forgetting their safety, lingering on roads, digging in the hedgerows, foraging and storing for winter. At the same time, every landowner for miles begins to take down unwanted trees and create huge piles of wood. I carve spoons and, working with green wood, I have developed a radar for potential utensils hidden in felled branches. I scan back and forth across my path for anything that could come in handy once submitted to axe and knife. This is, surely, a Good Thing. It is good to plan, to collect, to forage. To see potential everywhere.

I forget that I already have wood ready to be carved at home, that carting home yet another log will then become a job to be done that weighs on me and needs my attention. As I stand at the foot of a huge pile of brushwood and branches, many of them tantalisingly bent in just the right way, my mind wanders to the Israelites and their trip through the wilderness. I put my hands firmly in my pockets and just walk on by, pondering as I go.

If I were a recently freed slave, I would have in my bones a need to collect; nurture and generations of nature would have programmed me to know that to survive I needed to take advantage of every opportunity offered. As a child I would have been taught to bring home any and every possible item of food or anything else that could be used. I imagine the praise I would have received if I had scavenged a piece of meat, or a big enough scrap of leather to fashion into a pouch or even sandals. Even if the family did not need it now, scarcity would have been just around the corner, and my parents, grandparents and great great greats would have all been trained to seek, to search, to collect, to store up.

And then the slaves are released. God has sprung the trap they were in and they are in the desert. He takes them the long way so they have to learn to rely on him. It could have taken 11 days to reach the promised land, but they don’t know that, and he doesn’t tell them. He knows they need to re-learn the meaning of trust, and the only way to do that is to have to Trust. They run out of food - all they could carry has gone. They complain to Moses. Moses, you notice, goes straight to God. And God provides, with strict parameters. Gather up enough manna each day for you and your family, not a scrap more than you need. No saving, no storing, no careful planning for the future here. Except the day before Sabbath, then you may gather double so that on Sabbath you can rest. How could they possibly have got their heads around it? They know in the depths of their inherited ability to live that they have to think about the future, to save, to stock up, and here is food lying on the ground waiting to be picked up. So they pick up more, some of them. And it rots as soon as the day is past. They have created a job they didn’t need, disposing of reeking manna. What a change of mindset, what used to be good is now not to be contemplated. I imagine them rather bored, on the days they were not moving camp. Especially the Sabbath. They were used to that satisfaction of doing, fending for themselves, gathering up, or the disappointment and despair of not having enough. Now God is teaching them to trust him every day. And again the next day. And the next. And to rest on Sabbath again. How frustrating! Then again, how wonderful, if they can adjust. They will always have enough, but not too much.

My culture, too, tells me to do it myself, to fend for myself, make myself a better person, gather, buy, create security. As a missionary kid I never suffered because of lack, and there were many blessings, but material goods were often sparse, we wore inherited or home made clothes, and my mother drained every drop out of the milk carton - I remember the pyramid shaped pack on the side balanced over a cup so every last bit could be used. So I knew it was a Good Thing to collect good things, I programmed myself to gather and keep. Once in the UK I enjoyed experiencing that excitement of possibilities when shopping, or navigating the maze of IKEA*. Gather. Gather. That would be useful. That’s nice, And Cheap!

And now we have begun to explore Sabbath. It went against the grain, to choose not to throw in the load of laundry on our day of rest, to read a book instead of working. It seemed wrong, and various of us were even resentful at the concept. But we tried it. It was like Boxing Day but every week! All duties discharged or put on hold for a day. Homework packed up, housework laid down. Permission to rest. To read, to dream, to play a game. Now we don’t know how we worked every day that we had for years and years and years (except Boxing Day). One seventh of our time at rest (nearly - I haven’t managed a full 24 hours yet).

But I am still a squirrel. I REALLY want to take that bit of wood home and add it to my pile, because it Would be Good. But I need to trust, with everything I have, for wood, for the future, that God’s plans are good. He’s got my back, I have all I need, I don’t need to plan for a rainy day. Looking ahead, can I do that? Can I relinquish my sense of control and simply trust? Let go of my need to collect?

Can I live in the knowledge that with my God I will lack nothing, no matter what? 

‘Those that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength.’ There is something frustratingly unbusy in that.


*(Did you ever find the putting back station before the tills at IKEA? It’s brilliant, you get to dream and collect all that potential, experience all the fun, and then lay it all down before you have to pay. There is one in every store, hidden around to the side.)