The Bolt and the Coils

Rock of Remembrance

Late January, 2003.

Just arrived in Arusha from New Zealand after a long, miserable flight sitting next to my wife. She’d walked out nearly 13mths earlier and I had precious little knowledge of what and who she’d been with over that time.

She’d insisted on returning to Tanzania, but I’d refused to take her back out to the farm. I’d dropped her where she chose in town instead.

Why?

Because she wanted to return as though nothing had happened.

We had years of major issues. We needed real help before even thinking about living together again. She absolutely refused to get a third party involved.

So there I was.

Jet-lagged.
Wrung out.
Homesick for the first time in all my years in Tanzania.
And not feeling like I could trust myself to make wise decisions.

When I’d left Tanzania for New Zealand, I’d taken the bolt out of my .375 rifle and left it at my boss’s place. Now I had to decide whether I was taking it out to Namuai with me.

The next morning, once my boss had gone to work, I went to his wife with the bolt and asked if she could keep it for a month or two.

She didn’t know what it was. Keep bugging me to tell her. I was trying not to reveal it.

Then the penny dropped.

“Oh Andrew… are you okay?”

I stopped pretending. Told her the truth.

She didn’t muck about. A woman of action that lady.

Got on the phone, booked me in that same day with an older Irish nun who worked in mental health, and made me promise I’d go.

So I went.

I sat there and told the truth. She said it back to me which helped me hear how bad things had really got. Then we made a simple plan for what to do next.

I got back around 3.30 absolutely whacked, so lay down for a nap.

Then it happened.

Not a dream.

An open vision.

I was awake, eyes open, and suddenly saw myself being crushed in the coils of a giant serpent. Python-like. Massive. It had me wrapped tight and was preparing to swallow me alive.

I was done for.

Then I noticed the people all around.

They were tying ropes on the snake and pulling.

Unwinding it.

Peeling the coils back off me so I could be free and not be devoured whole.

My boss and his wife. The Irish nun. My family and friends back home praying for me.

The vision faded.

I wasn’t alone.

There was a real battle going on around my life, and God was already bringing people into it. Some through prayer. Some through practical care. Some by refusing to let me hide how bad things had got.

God gave me a picture. A metaphor.

A giant snake.
Its coils.
The real danger I was in.
The people He was using to unwind it.

It didn’t fix everything overnight.

But it marked the bottom turning into an upward trajectory.

The lowest point of my life also became one of the clearest.

I wasn’t abandoned.

The goodness of God meant

The thing crushing me was not going to swallow me whole.