Sitting on the back porch, I heard an exceptional amount of squawking from the goose family sitting out on the island. Five of six goslings stood off to one side, while mom and dad gave attention to another which was having some kind of problem.
I grabbed the binoculars, and much to my dismay, realized a snapping turtle had the gosling by the leg. It was at the edge of the water, trying to escape onto land, but could not get away.
The mother and father, honking loudly, took turns jumping on the turtle’s back, trying to draw it away. The young one struggled, cried, struggled, until it was almost worn completely down. The parents tempted the turtle, stomped on its back, flapped their wings, and when I finally came to the realization the gosling was going to be turtle lunch, the turtle let go, and went to snap at the father.
Upon its release, the gosling found a burst of energy, and scrambled up the bank.
It was covered in mud and muck, but only a little blood ran from its injured leg. It hobbled, but could walk, with a huge limp.
I realized then, my doubt is like that turtle.
Doubt is a nasty snapper.
Doubt grabs your ankles from beneath the murky waters, and tries to keep you in the mud. It darn near takes a miracle to get a snapper to let go — and takes almost the same to shake off doubt.
All that gosling wanted to do was climb the bank of the island. To rise above the mud for greener pastures and shade.
But that turtle wanted to drag it down. That turtle wanted it dead.
Doubt is the one thing that will kill a dream. Give in to doubt, and you will be dragged beneath the waters into the depths below to become turtle food.
I’m glad the gosling lived, and the turtle, for today, is stuck eating fish.
And, as tense as it was, I am glad I got to see the struggle, and the victory over the attacker.