One of our church members began a Facebook post today with the words: “There is a mouse in my house …”.  I wrote that I thought that sentence would make a good opening for a children’s book!  It also reminded me of one of my more infamous (or should I say, “infa-mouse”?) moments …

As most of my readers know, I am a pastor.  I have my strengths, but things mechanical — and sometimes practical — are not usually among them.  One of the most memorable examples of this happened when we were living in the parsonage of my first full-time church, Dickson Baptist, in Spencer, Oklahoma. 

Late one night, as we were drifting off to sleep, I could hear this little, high-pitched sound.  Every little noise keeps me up, and this one defintely bothered me.  It was not going away, and I was not going to sleep until it did.  After I had listened, awake, for some time, I said out loud: “That is a mouse!”  With the righteous anger of one whose home had been violated, I was determined to find the source of this noise, and take care of that mouse.  I went into the hallway, and listened carefully.  Moving slowly closer, I was able to isolate the source of the sound — it was just inside the hallway wall!  Evidently, there was a mouse trapped behind the sheetrock in the hallway, and it was squealing to no end, trying to escape.  I knew what I had to do.  I could not just leave that mouse in there squealing; I would never be able to sleep.  Drastic and immediate action was required. Throwing all caution to the wind, I went to the garage and procured some (seldom-used) tools, including a saw.  I was going to cut my way through the sheetrock and get to that mouse!  So I enthusiastically began the work. 

After hacking some holes into the sheetrock that were large enough to get the saw going, I began to cut my way towards my midnight nemesis.  As the pieces of sheetrock began to fall away, I could see some items behind them.  As I sawed, I hollered my running commentary back to Cheryl: “This mouse is trapped in some secluded place set off by this sheetrock … he must have been here before; he has drug some stuff in here!  There are some clothes … and some shoes, and … hey, he’s even drug a tennis racket in here?!”  Suddenly I stopped; and I had this sinking feeling ….  I knew we kept our tennis rackets in the hall closet.  I had just cut a huge hole through the hallway sheetrock — right into our own closet!  Now there would be a new sound keeping me up — I thought Cheryl never would stop laughing!   

The rest of our stay at that parsonage, a patched-up spot in the hallway sheetrock remained; a glaring reminder of my sincere but misguided zeal — and of “The Great Mouse Hunt”!