Boogers and the 3 a.m. flight team

Flight Team Commander, Otis McLeod.

Specialty: Early warnings, rapid retreat, and spiritual discernment.

Growing up, my Mama called ~ haints, shadows, and anything that scared us ~ “boogers.” Ever heard of Soap Sally? That’ll have to be a story for another day. It’s a good’un. But let’s save her for another time. This morning’s tale belongs to me, Otis, and the darkness that nearly took us both out.

We get up early around here. I’m talking 3 a.m. early. Before the sun. Before the roosters. Before Heaven’s lights flip on, probably.

It’s still and quiet in the dark ~ until it’s not.

That’s when me and Otis head outside for his smell everything twice then pee on it break. He’s my Frenchie shadow, and like me, he’s brave in the daylight and utterly useless in the dark. Especially without Jeff ~ my husband, who manages all the wildlife in these parts, and a vast majority of the courage.

See, we try to get Otis’s business done before Jeff leaves for work. Jeff is the muscle, the protector ~ the one who can tell the difference between a snake, a stick, and your imagination. But this particular morning? I was too slow. Jeff had already pulled out of the driveway.

So there we were—me and Otis. Alone. In the dark. And not just any dark ~ country dark ~ which is very different from city dark. There was a faint glow from the security light out by the dirt road, but that little thing was about as helpful as a night light in a haunted house. We’ve got a big front yard and that light didn’t come close to reaching us.

We walked out to the middle of the yard. It was quiet, except for the hum of the power lines and our own nervous breathing. We were trying to be brave, but I don’t think we could’ve convinced anyone.

And then we heard it.

Something… moving… in the woods beside us.

Now, let me tell you something right now: if you’ve ever been out before daylight to go hunting, you already know this ~ at 3 a.m., a squirrel sounds like a grizzly bear crashing through the brush.

Otis and I froze. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

In that moment, we locked eyes and had a full-blown conversation:

Otis: You hear that?

Me: Yep.

Otis: Trouble. Big teeth. Death imminent.

Me: Say less. RUN.

Now, it’s unclear who pulled who with that leash, but between the two of us, I swear only about six steps actually touched the ground. I don’t know what to call it exactly, but whatever we did, it defied physics and dignity.

Next thing I know, we’re through the screen door—inside, out of breath, wide-eyed, and freaked out (because we can both be a little dramatic).

We stood there, catching our breath, thankful to be alive. That’s when Otis sniffed my bare foot and looked at me. I could feel the question coming.

Otis: Uh...Mama? Where’s your shoe?

Small price to pay, Otis. Porch casualty.

Only thing scarier than a 3 a.m. booger is low blood sugar. Let’s fix that with a snack.

And that, my friends, is the kind of morning that gets your blood pumping and your prayer life started real early.

Sometimes God doesn’t teach us with lightning bolts and burning bushes. Occasionally it’s the whisper of the woods at 3 a.m., a lost shoe, and a dog with the spiritual gift of discernment.

The Bible says “fear not” 365 times ~ one for every day of the year. I think I’ve got 364 of those down, but everybody’s got a lost-a-shoe day.

Oh ~ and thank you, Jeff, for the beautiful courtyard you built out back for me and Otis. It’s cozy, fully fenced, lit up, and safe from the two-ton wooly booger in the woods by the front yard.

No more facing boogers for us at 3 a.m.

God love him, and so do we.