never underestimate the power of a favorite childhood story

I am a creature of habit, and as is my custom, the first thing I did this afternoon when I got to church was head down the long hallway to get the 30 gallon wheeled trash can to empty the smaller classroom trash cans into, flirting with the idea of changing up my routine.

Several steps into the walk I noticed a small lump in front of the closet where I keep my cleaning supplies and I thought "hmmm, maybe a child dropped a toy on their way home Wednesday night".  I barely had time to process that bit of information before I was close enough to see it was not a lump of cloth or a wadded up paper towel nor was it a toy...

the lump was in the middle of the hall,
between the carpeted ramp and the blue stool in front of the drinking fountain

my heart began to beat faster as I recognized the shape 
it was a mouse
a plump, brown mouse
I'll admit, it was kind of cute,
but still, it was a mouse
and mice have no business being inside a building
especially a building I am in

I was mentally thanking our pest control company for their fine work
whatever poison they put out works because the mouse wasn't scurrying away
and since it wasn't moving I knew it was dead 
I would not need to chase it 
nor worry about where it would hide when it ran off

I didn't have time to be sad about it's demise though,
because when I got close enough I saw it move
I side stepped and cowered in the furnace room and thought
"Oh great! What now?"
my heart was pounding

thanking God I was not in the building by myself
I yelled down the hallway
"Hey, Bradley, what do you think about mice that are still alive in the church?"

pregnant pause
I had a high amount of hope he'd volunteer to take care of it
"well, I don't want to stomp and smash it's head"

I muttered quietly to myself 
"that makes two of us"
and resigned myself to the fact this was my problem to take care of

I hesitated, 
options and conflicting thoughts racing through my head
"it is cute-just look at those whiskers twitching
and those bright beady black eyes are sparkling"
"BUT YUCK, IT IS A MOUSE"

it was still sitting in the same position it was when I first saw it 
I could not take it's life and I could not let it stay 
"I could pick it up by its tail"
but I didn't want to touch it
"I could grab a paper towel and then pick it up"
but I didn't want to even get that hands off/on-
and what if it ran away while I was getting the paper towel
I searched for another option
a small trash can was near my feet

I could quickly cover the mouse, thereby trapping it and saving its life...
but then what?
how would I get it from under the trash can outside?

I decided to place the trash can on its side in front of the mouse and hope it would go in
"hurry little fella, run into this" (I actually spoke those words out loud)
it wasn't running anywhere
thankfully I'd had the foresight to grab the papers out of the trash can before I tipped it
I used them to nudge it where I wanted it to go
safely in, I righted the trash can, pulled the liner out 
and quickly walked to the dumpster and gently deposited the small white bag 

I was reminded of two specific things today

• Many times I have not because I ask not

while Bradley didn't want to stomp the mouse anymore than I did, I am fairly confident that if I'd asked him to come and take care of it, he would have

•  childhood experiences have an impact upon our adult choices

one of my favorite books growing up was Churchmouse Stories

It is a fanciful collection of short stories about a mouse who lives in a church and the friendship that develops between the poor little church mouse, the cats who also live there, and the kind hearted parson in charge.

I still have the book and it is what came to mind as I walked away from the dumpster. I credit today's mouse's life to the warm memories developed by reading and rereading that book until it was literally falling apart at the seams. I think my subconscious was dwelling on those stories about the poor little church mouse from my childhood. 

I have also imagined what stories my present day little church mouse will have to tell when it makes its way out of the bag I left open, down through the rusted hole of the dumpster to wherever he (or she) makes its new home...

hmmm, this could be the start of a children's series for my grandchildren