I am not overly alarmed by snakes. I won’t drape one around my neck, but as long as a snake knows its place, I am content to live in close proximity. In my previous home, we sometimes had garden snakes hiding in the flower beds, sunbathing by the pool, or hanging out near the doorway of the house. As I recall, we never killed one. None of them killed us. I would have remembered that.
When I first moved to North Carolina, I didn’t think about snakes at all. Then one afternoon, while attempting to weed-eat an invasive overgrowth of wisteria and English ivy into submission, I realized this heretofore unexplored corner of my yard might be a snake haven. Even ones I hadn’t yet seen. Neighbors confirmed that snakes, including venomous ones, are indeed common in this area.
I was torn between respect for the ecosystem—assuming snakes had been here first—and prudence—assuming an encounter with a copperhead would end badly for me. I resolved the tension by ordering rubber boots. Tall ones. To the knee. Just to be safe. I resolved future yard clean-up would include the wearing of boots. If there were snakes, we would co-exist peacefully on this small plot.
That all changed this Spring when Wesley, my new sheep-a-doodle puppy, and I began to spend hours playing outside and exploring the nether reaches of should have been a lawn.
We were playing a game of fetch (it is never obvious which one of us does more retrieving) when I encountered my first snake of the season. I had just reached into a pile of pine needles to pick up the frisbee when a snake slithered from under my athletic shoes in apparent rebuke for endangering his life. From his tan coloring with a quasi-argyle (or was it diamond shaped?) pattern, I, who am ignorant of herpetology, couldn’t determine whether he was of the venomous or non-venomous variety. Since Hunter doesn’t make boots for sheep-a-doodles, prudence dictated a new approach. I ordered Snake-Be-Gone.
Perhaps I overreacted. Even I know that snakes are good for fertilizing the soil and ridding a yard of rodents and ticks. My problem is not with what I know, but what I don’t—the extent and type of the infestation. Until I bag up the pine needles and trim back more vines, I will err on the side of caution and use a product that promises to nudge my snakes toward the neighbor’s yard. (She said she would be happy to have them.)
As I stood in my yard and pondered the practical implications of having snakes, the parallel between my yard and my inner life emerged. The overgrown garden of my life resembles my unkempt, snake-infested yard! I began to recognize how often the busyness of accomplishments, the pursuit of my next great adventure, or the acquisition of ‘just what I always needed, or wanted’ has meant I took no time to tend my heart.
Too many vines of meaningless pursuits have grown with abandon, spreading rapidly through fertile soil meant for a more productive harvest. Certificates of achievement, albums of photographs, and cabinets stuffed with collectibles attest to the ways I have spent my days. But the crop that was intended to sustain my soul and nourish others could have produced—should have produced—a higher yield. The verdant lushness of useless vines has camouflaged the truth that my life is out of control.
In my yard, I have little knowledge of what lurks under the green, what grows and reproduces in the mulch of decaying vegetation or lies hidden in the darkness. The same is true of my heart. I am confident much that is beneficial remains concealed there, but I’ve also had haunting glimpses of a darker side. By wearing boots of civility and a veneer of self-control, I think we can coexist peaceably—as long as I watch my step. I have learned to tread cautiously through the parts of my heart that reek of pride and self-centeredness, that want to be served instead of to serve, that want a little more even if it means others have a little less, that choose retribution over mercy. Such neglect comes with peril to the soul.
The bride in Solomon’s Song at least had someone to blame, “My mother’s sons were angry with me and made me take care of the vineyards; my own vineyard I had to neglect” (Song of Songs 1:6). I have only myself to blame. There is no Snake-Be-Gone for the heart. Even if there were, I wouldn’t order it. The way to reverse neglect requires time and effort. It calls for raking through the trash, pulling up the weeds, nurturing what has value, and planting new seeds with hope. A year of pandemic limitation has given me a new perspective on what I can live without. It has turned me inward in ways that promise new growth and a healthier life. Perhaps this is a passing phase, an idea that will fade as life resumes a more normal course. I hope not.
Above all else, guard your heart for everything you do flows from it. (Proverbs 4:23)
