By Jeff Scoggins

It seems like I recall Garrison Keillor joking that Minnesota winters have the positive function of keeping the U.S. population at large from encroaching too far into the state. I have discovered that snakes serve much the same function for the South, though perhaps not on such a large scale. It’s only Minnesotans who fear the snakes of the South. Everyone else knows that they are to be preferred to endless subzero temps. However, for anyone already prejudiced against the South in this manner I would like to reaffirm this fear of snakes with a story, which if pressed I will have to admit is not typical snake behavior, at least as far as my experience with them is concerned.

I went fishing one day with my grandfather, known affectionately as granddaddy to all who knew him, whether or not they were related to him. I loved riding in granddaddy’s truck. It was a 1970 (or so) two-tone green, extended cab, full-bed, pickup with an aluminum topper on the back, carpet on the dash (a later installation), and a treasure trove of possessions stuffed into ever nook and cranny. Much of it was junk and much of it, at least to me, was far from it. Particularly the firearms.

Upon arriving at the lake we filled a styrofoam cup with worms from rotting logs and leaves, grabbed our poles from the back of the truck, and walked to the edge of the lake. We found a break in the lake grasses and cast our lines expecting to sit and watch our bobbers. But as soon as our lines hit the water the bobbers plunged.

Nothing could be more exciting to a young boy, or so I might have thought if I was more self-aware. Instead I was just excited. “I got one! I got one!” But the first tug indicated a very small fish. Not that this was terribly disappointing because quantity can easily make up for size from a boy’s perspective—at least until he catches a large fish. But that’s another story.

Catching a fish is one of the great moments in childhood, but I found out that the moment can become even greater. The little bluegill on my line made a run for it into the lakeshore grass, which was his big mistake. I would have gently removed him from the hook and tossed him back into the water. Instead, as he ran from me, he apparently ran into a water snake. Perhaps it was a Water Moccasin, I can’t honestly remember. But for the sake of those to whom I have dedicated this story, I’ll confidently state that it was a Water Moccasin. They were definitely in the area because Bo Bo, granddaddy’s dog, found one on the shore before we left.

Anyway, the bluegill came off of my hook, but not with my help. Instead he was assisted by the weight of a large snake that grabbed him as I reeled the unfortunate fish toward me. I pulled both the fish and snake right out of the water before both came off and splashed back into the lake. That is remarkable enough, but then granddaddy did the same thing and caught a second snake. I threw in my worm again, instantly caught a fish, who also swam into the grass and came out again with a brand new tail attachment.

After the third snake granddaddy yelled, “Wait! Don’t do it again yet.” Then he ran back to the truck and returned with a .22 revolver. “Okay, go!” he said. I caught another snake on bluegill bait. With remarkable accuracy for the equipment he was using granddaddy proceeded to shoot half a dozen snakes as they hung from my fish. Animal rights will probably arrest me now, but this was Arkansas, which I suppose says enough.

The Bible describes Satan as a roaring lion who proactively goes about seeking whom he may devour. He is also described as a serpent. A serpent doesn’t hunt by seeking but by waiting.  He knows the habits of his prey and simply waits for it to come to him, striking at the opportune time. We have habits and Satan knows them, and he positions himself strategically in the lakeshore grasses waiting, knowing that we’re already hooked and will eventually end up near enough to him for the fatal strike.

The difference between us and my ill-fated bluegill, though, is that our heavenly Father is on the shore and his purpose is not primarily to kill a Snake. His purpose is primarily to rescue us from the Snake. To a Father who loves his kids it doesn’t matter how his kids got hooked in the first place. He doesn’t stand there and say, “Well, you asked for it.” He first rescues those he loves. He will surely have a talk with us about how we got into the mess, but that will come later, after he saves us.

If you’re hooked on habits that seem to hold you captive don’t blindly run without direction because eventually you will get a little too near the Snake. Make a beeline for your heavenly Father.