Monologue--One More Night with the Frogs

While growing up, my son Ronald attended a lot of church services, but the sermon he remembers is “One More Night with the Frogs.” It comes from Exodus 8 and includes a powerful king, a cautious prophet, and millions of frogs.

At the beginning of the story, the Israelites are trapped in Egypt’s underclass, enslaved by a powerful king. God’s word to Egypt’s ruler is “Let my people go.” The king is determined to prevent the Israelites from leaving Egypt, so his response to God is No.

Ten plagues come, one by one. They are God’s miraculous signs and wonders, designed to convince Egypt’s Pharaoh to release the Israelites. By the time the tenth plague is carried out, Pharaoh lets God’s people go.

Exodus 8:1-15 tells the story of the second plague, which probably would have done it for me. In Exodus 8, God says, “I will smite all thy borders with frogs.” NLT Study Bible describes them as a plague of frogs that come out of the Nile River, enter the houses of the people and government officials, and swarm into the bedroom of the king. They cover everything, including Pharaoh’s bed.

It is hard to sleep in a bed full of croaking frogs, so Pharaoh summons Aaron and Moses, who are God’s representatives. Pharaoh says, “Plead with the Lord to take the frogs away from me and my people. I will let your people go so they can offer sacrifices to the Lord.”

“Explain yourself to me,” Moses replies. “You have the honor of telling me when you want the frogs removed. You set the time. Tell me when you want me to pray for you, your officials, and your people. Then you and your houses will be rid of the frogs. They will remain only in the Nile River.”

I don’t know about you, but if frogs were in my water pots, pantry, closet, bathroom, and bed, I would say, “NOW!!!! Pray for us now.”

I suppose that the Pharaoh is too proud to reveal his desperation. Maybe he wants to come up with a plan to hold onto his slaves. Perhaps he hopes that if he delays, the frogs will go away. Whatever the reason, he says, “Do it tomorrow.” He chooses to spend one more night with the frogs.

Lessons are obvious. One of them is the human tendency to delay, which often brings terrible consequences. “Tomorrow,” we often say.

I come to my first blog posting—a monologue in which I endeavor to illustrate the human tendency to say, “Tomorrow, Lord. I’ll do it tomorrow. I want to spend one more night with the frogs.”




Middle aged man sitting alone at a small kitchen table, drinking his morning coffee. Stage is dark except for the spotlight shining on him.

I tolerated a lot, and it’s no wonder I refused to go to church. Anyone in my position would have done the same thing, I believe. I’m sure God understood.

In all fairness, I should say that my children were never the problem. Certainly, they talked to me sometimes. “Dad, we’re praying for you,” they would say. “Dad, we’re concerned about your eternal destiny.” But they didn’t try to shove religion down my throat. My wife, on the other hand, was always nagging me. “Quit drinking. Set a good example. Go to church. Commit your life to the Lord,” she would say. “Don’t put it off,” she would warn. She didn’t know when to stop.

Sunday mornings were usually tense. My wife would have a meltdown when I popped the top on a cold one instead of getting dressed for church.

When she was angry, she didn’t yell, but her silences were like sonic booms, and her angry glances were powerful. I wonder if she practiced those hostile glares in the mirror before she used them on me.

I made sure they never produced the result she was hoping for.

Now that I look back, going to church as a family meant a lot to her, and I guess it wouldn’t have killed me to go with her now and then. But I didn’t want to be marched off to church like a naughty little boy whose mother was worried about appearances.

Besides, I worked hard. All week, I bore the burden of supporting a family. On Sunday, I needed to have a few beers and relax. The last thing I needed was a crowded church and a long sermon about guilt and iniquity.

And let’s face it. Those preachers probably had a few guilty pleasures of their own.

At least, that’s what I always told myself.

Maybe I was rationalizing, but it was the way I justified my decision to stay away from church. I argued that churchgoers really were no different from everyone else. They were simply a bunch of hypocrites who knew how to put on a show.

I never saw the divorce coming. I thought my wife would stay married to me forever, I suppose. “For better or worse,” like she vowed on our wedding day.

Oh, well. My children tell me she’s happy, and I don’t think she was very happy when she was living with me. She’s married to a “fellow believer.” That’s what my children call him, anyway. From what I hear, she spends half her time going on mission trips with this guy. Africa. Asia. Doesn’t sound like much fun to me. But she always talked about traveling. At one time, she probably hoped she’d go on mission trips with me.

People say that no marriage dies suddenly. Instead, marriages die slowly, piece by piece. That’s what happened to my marriage, I believe. Little by little, unresolved conflicts chipped away at my wife’s commitment to me.

Oh, sure. I was unfaithful at times. But when men stray, aren’t wives supposed to look the other way? Isn’t that one of the unwritten rules of successful marriages?

Unfortunately, my wife didn’t see things that way.

She always expected a heartfelt apology. In fact, the word she used was “repent.” And I don’t think a husband should be expected to come to his wife with hat in hand, begging to be taken back in. I think that women should simply forgive their husbands for weaknesses of the flesh and move on.

We have “no fault” auto insurance, after all. Seems to me we should have “no fault” marriages.

But seriously-—I thought my wife knew that I loved her. I thought she understood that she occupied first place in my life.

That was the problem, I think. She never understood my heart.

For example, she always assumed that I was a sinner, but I grew up in church. I have Christian beliefs. I know what the Bible says. It’s just that my beliefs are a private affair that I keep to myself. I’m not willing to display them outwardly.

And all this praising God and raising hands. I don’t like public demonstrations. They seem phony to me. They make me uncomfortable.

My daughter was talking to me the other day. She quoted a Bible verse that says, “The curse causeless shall not come.” When I asked her to explain what she meant, she said that the man who disobeys God can expect to have a lot of heartache and frustration in life.

That sooner or later, if I want to go to heaven, I’ll have to follow God’s plan and obey His commands. But God is a loving Father, isn’t he? He’s willing to give me some space.

He knows my heart, after all. He knows that, deep inside, I believe in Him. I don’t think He will ignore my prayers when I decide to reach out to Him. But I’m a stubborn man, I’ll admit. I need to choose the time and place. I’m sure He sympathizes with that.

Let’s see. (Looks at watch.) It’s eight thirty. If this Sunday is like most others, my daughter will call me in a few minutes and invite me to church. And if this Sunday is like most others, I will turn her down.

But she’s probably right. At some point, I’ll have to get everything worked out with the Lord.

Of course, I still have plenty of time. God is patient, and He will wait for me.

I don’t think I’ll go to church this morning. There are two or three crucial NFL games being broadcast on cable today. I’d rather stay home, have a few beers, and watch football on TV.

But I know that I can’t put off this Christianity thing forever.

Maybe next week. I don’t want to go to church today, but maybe next week I’ll go.


Black Out as man sips coffee and reads newspaper.