“I am so tired,” I told my friend. “I’m heading inside to go straight to bed.”

As I rounded the corner of my driveway, there were flashlights darting across my yard. It’s 9pm. Why aren’t my kids in bed? What in the world is going on?

I rolled down the window and listened as I put the car in park. “Dig, Frank! That’s a good boy. No, don’t bite him in the butt! Dig!”

That’s when I noticed my husband. He was down on his knees in my flowerbed, his arm elbow deep in a hole, pulling with all his might. My oldest rounded the corner, “I found a little shovel, Dada.”

“Start digging on the other side. I can’t let this critter go. He’s the one who’s been keeping me up at night bangin’ under the house. DIG, CARTER! DIG, FRANK!”

At this point, I did what any woman married to a country boy would do—I stayed in the car and pulled out my camera. Critters in holes eventually come out of said holes and run toward my feet. Not happening.

Within minutes the dirt was loosened, and my husband’s arm emerged from the hole with a large, wiggling armadillo. His face beamed. The boys scooted up close to see the critter while Frank barked and jumped, still trying to bite the thing in the butt. I snapped several pictures of their prize as each of them retold their version of the story with large hand motions and exaggerated everything.

This scene has replayed in my mind several times over the past few days and each time, I think about how scary it would be to first, stick my arm down into a dark hole, and second, grab hold of whatever creature was in there. I don’t do critters. Even on the rat hunts we’ve had I always position myself in such a way that I can escape quickly.

I do that in life, too. When hard topics and issues arise that require me to take a stand and paint a target on my back, I sit in the car and watch, but when the time comes to stick my arm in the hole and grab the armadillo, I’m outta’ there.

But if we don’t take a stand, who will? If we don’t represent the values and religious beliefs that we say define us, who will? If we don’t tell others of the great grace that changed our lives, who will?

There comes a time where I must suck up my fear and shove my arm into the scary hole of the unknown future; where I have to grab hold of strong beliefs and stances that will cause recoil and backlash. If I continue sitting in my car, idly watching, change may never happen.

Let’s be brave this week, and shove our arms into the holes that scare us half to death. Let’s grab the armadillo by the tail and stand up for the things that matter most. It might just enable us to sleep better at night with less noise under our house.

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