The Snail

   One day my son had a complete meltdown. That kind that has no good solution. From the kitchen, I heard the angry screeches ramp up in his room. The details of it are fuzzy to me now, but I’m pretty sure he was trying build something using the nuts and bolts from his wooden and plastic set which unfortunately did not fit together. I had tried to be patient and run through the list of normal parenting strategies- explaining how they didn’t fit, offering suggestions of how to make it work, pulling out a different toy to divert him. These obviously fell short.  And so did my patience. I finally decided we needed a change of scenery and some fresh air. Honestly, this move wasn’t just for his good, but because I was about to lose every last shred of forced calm and could feel my volcano of anger rising. So before I exploded, I drug his screaming, flailing body down the stairs and out the door. On the way I muttered a prayer, “Please, give me something to distract him.”

 It was early spring and my eyes scanned the blooming landscape for something, anything. Right there, silently trudging along the white trim of our garage door was a beautiful, large snail. “Look! A snail!” I exclaimed. He came over to inspect it and the tears slowed. We looked in wonder together, never having found such a large snail in our yard before. He looked up at me with red, puffy eyes, wiped his nose, and asked, “Can we keep him?” 

    And so it came to be that the aptly named Sheldon spent two months living in our bug box enjoying bits of cucumber, apple, and pea leaves. Except for the week we accidentally left the lid of the box off and he went missing. Very devastating. Upon returning home from errands several days later, I noticed a familiar looking brown sphere on the garage door as it slowly lifted. Sure enough, it was Sheldon. Thankfully too, for my son had grown quite fond of him. What I didn’t realize was how fond I’d become of him as well. 

    Then, it slowly happened. First we saw a tiny crack in his shell, then a few days later a larger one, and then eventually, we knew he was no more. The day I picked up the dry, cracked shell and explained to my son that Sheldon had died, he burst into tears. As I looked at the shell, tears sprang to my eyes, too. Instantly, I felt ridiculous. This is a snail! People cry over actual animals, like dogs and cat. Come on, Kim! But then I recalled these words I’d just read by Frederick Buechner: 

    "Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. 

    They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where... you should go next." [1]

   So I turned over the shell and pondered this. Just as I’d led my son by the hand out of the door a few months ago to point out something new, I felt God’s hand leading me, pointing out something new. I wiped my eyes trying to sort through my emotions. It wasn’t just the dying of the snail, it was also the crack in his shell illuminating a fracture I was feeling. Finding it hard to articulate in regular words, a poem tumbled out during the kids’ naptime, bringing an exhale of peace. 

snail shell
	cracking

once solid home
	crumbling

jelly body
	unmoving

why am I
	crying

my reaction
	confusing

a piece of me
	grieving

I find myself
	longing

for home and love
	belonging

my story and the snail’s
	intertwining

the God of all
	speaking

my sorrowful heart
	whispering

here I am
	surrendering

my need for answers 
	diminishing

he carries me
	singing

By God’s mercy, in the form of a tiny snail, he'd brought comfort to us. Joy to my son. Hope to me. A new “pet” to my son. A reminder to me. If he cares about the tiny creatures of our world and ordains their first breath, last breath, and every moment in between, surely he cares about me. Our great longings for community and belonging are echoes of our deepest desires for communion with the Father and belonging in his Kingdom. He is constantly pursuing us through the beauty and rhythms of his creation. 

    My son still talks about the snail. It always makes me smile at the capacity of young children to attach to such funny things. A week ago, I was reminded of this story all over again. It is the end of fall now. Brown, crumbling leaves scatter the ground and most insects have found damp, dark places to hide in for the winter ahead. But my son is still determined to find bugs. He had rolled over a large rock by the side of our garage door hunting for some. I stooped down to help. Peeking out of the dirt, I could see the shiny top of a tiny snail shell. Then, we found another, then another, then another. We found around ten snails. I’d never seen ones so tiny. But then again, I’d never looked so hard. Sometimes, it’s not that the good and beautiful isn’t there, it’s that we’re not looking. 

    We chose about six snails along with a handful of roly poly’s and placed them in his bug box. I’m not sure they’ll make it through the winter. Maybe. That would be pretty neat. At the very least, I’ve marveled at the cycle of life, seen God in the tiniest of creatures, and remembered his enduring faithfulness.

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[1] I read this quote in a book called The Wonder Years: 40 Women Over 40 on Aging, Faith, Beauty, and Strength. It was fabulous. I’m not 40 yet, but I’m actually looking forward to it… maybe I’ll be a few years wiser by then. Probably not. But anyways, Jennifer Grant shares this Frederick Buechner quote in her reflection “Pay Attention to What Makes You Cry.” It comes from Buechner’s book A Crazy, Holy Grace: The Healing Power of Pain and Memory. I’ll confess I’ve never read any of his books, but if I loved this quote so much, maybe I should. Goals for 2024!

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Meet Sheldon...