Casavant's Distress

Just imagine how Casavant feels when he discovers that he is not the handsome mouseling that he had always imagined. Share his fears and his tears.

A strange eeriness hung in the air that spring night. I snuggled against my beloved organ pipes. Using my keen night vision, I stared into the silent darkness studying the deserted pews below me. I imagined my human friends sitting there, wearing strange, removable fur in such a variety of colours. I had learned to love those humans, although some of them were friends of our enemy, the cat. Suddenly, a bright light flashed behind the stained-glass window of King David. Its colours blazed as if the sun were shining through it. Then there was blackness--a blackness I could feel from the tip of my whiskers to the end of my quivering tail. Right afterwards, the darkness was shattered by a noise that sounded like ten cannons all fired at once. I was frozen with fear and my tiny heart pounded like a midnight express thundering across a bridge. Was the city under attack? Was Jesus coming back?

Whiskers twitching, I moved cautiously through the familiar maze of pipes--some short and barely thicker than mother's tail and others wide and towering like the cedars of Lebanon. A cloud of dust shadowed me as I headed down the organ tuner's ladder to investigate. In the old kitchen, I scurried up onto the window sill. There I stood, human-style, balancing myself with my sturdy tail and pressing my pointed nose against the rain-sheeted glass. Again, and again, blinding chains of light linked heaven and earth, followed by a mighty rumble, louder than the sound the biggest organ pipe could make.

While studying the skies, I could think only of God's greatness. Then my eyes began to focus on the face in the cold glass. I twitched my nose, and the mouseling in the glass twitched his nose at me. I was seeing myself for the first time--two perfectly formed large ears and clear, bulging eyes. Then I noticed something that was so horrible I could hardly bear to look. My lower lip quivered. A lone tear furrowed a path down my face and lost itself in my soft furry belly. I realized that I was ugly. I was not the handsome, swashbuckling mouseling-about-the-Lord's-House that I had always imagined myself to be. The problem was with my whiskers--my centre whisker on the left, to be specific. It was bent at a strange angle and pointed upward! How terrible! As a young mouseling, my appearance was important to me. I could feel my spirits sag and my body shudder. Tears streamed down my face and dripped off my nose.

As quietly as a mouse, mother arrived beside me. She had been working the night shift, doing her housekeeping job in the kitchen, busily cleaning up all the crumbs dropped after the congregational supper--a big job. I had been in such a rush that I hadn't noticed her. Lovingly, she wrapped her long tail across my heaving back and drew me close.

"Why all those tears, Casavant?" mother squeaked gently.

"Just look at me, mother," I sniffled. "I'm deformed! I'm some kind of freaky mouseling! It's my whisker."

Lightning flashed in the distance and lit up the kitchen. I could see hurt and concern on her face. "Oh, Casavant," she squeaked softly. "Your whisker is bent, and I cannot explain why. But, my son, it makes me love you even more. You see, your father's whisker was exactly the same--you inherited that from him. Now, the older you become, the more you look like him. Every time I look at you, I think of him.

"No matter what we look like, Casavant, we are all handsome in the sight of God who made us. Those hairless human friends of yours are really unique. They were created to look like their Father, God. Can you imagine, son? Humans who believe in God's Son, Jesus, become Jesus' brothers and sisters! They're part of the family of God! They must try hard to be loving and fair and generous, like their Brother. God has promised to send his Holy Spirit to help them, because they aren't always very good on their own. Then, maybe as those Christians grow older, they will look and act more like their Father. What a wonderful image those human creatures can have."

The rain slowed and the thunder rumbled out over the lake, but mother's tender words echoed in my mind. "Casavant, my dear mouseling, remember you are very special. I love you more when you are eager to look like your father." Then impulsively we gave each other a mousey nose rub--mother and son--whiskers tangled together, our normal ones and my special one with the funny bend. Oh, how I loved her. She was so loving and wise. I might never love my crooked whisker, but my father had one too, and that made me feel a lot better. Now, I am going to try to grow up to be just like papa.