Deacon Jude Tam Tran

A MOUSETRAP

“If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” — 1 Corinthians 12:26
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2

If you’ve ever felt small, overlooked, or ignored, you’ll relate deeply to the emotional roller coaster of one very anxious mouse.

This wasn’t just any mouse—no, this was the kind of tiny, whiskered creature who carried the weight of the world (or at least the pantry) on its fragile shoulders.

One day, he peeked through a crack in the wall, rubbing his tiny paws together, hoping—dreaming—that the farmer and his wife were opening a box of cheese, crackers, or honestly anything snackable. But instead of discovering a feast, he discovered The Horror: a mousetrap.

A brand-new, shiny, undoubtedly deadly mousetrap.

If he had pearls, he would’ve clutched them.

With his little mouse-heart pounding, he sprinted into the yard like a squeaky tornado and shouted at the top of his lungs,

“There’s a mousetrap in the house!”

Not exactly the kind of news that wins you “Most Popular Rodent of the Year,” but urgent nonetheless.

First to respond was the hen, who waddled over, feathers fluffed, clearly annoyed because she’d been in the middle of doing Very Important Chicken Things.

“Oh dear,” she clucked, “that sounds like a terrible problem for you. But I’m a hen, sweetheart. I don’t do mousetraps. I do eggs. Best of luck!”

Translation: “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Next, our trembling mouse ran to the pig—sweet, round, spiritual Brother Pig—who listened sympathetically.

“Oh, little brother,” the pig sighed, “I’m so sorry. I can’t help you… but I will pray for you.”

Which was kind, but not exactly the practical support one hopes for when one’s life is on the line.

Finally, the mouse approached the cow, big and calm and wise—or so he hoped.

“Friend,” the mouse pleaded, “there’s a mousetrap in the house.”

The cow nodded thoughtfully and said, “I understand, little one. But truly, this has nothing to do with me.”

Great. Three animals. Three versions of, “Good luck with that, buddy.”

Dejected and more alone than ever, the mouse returned to the house. He stared at the trap, feeling like a tiny furry Shakespeare character contemplating fate. If he could’ve sighed dramatically, he would’ve.

Then one night—SNAP!

A sound split the air like thunder. The trap had sprung.

The farmer’s wife rushed into the darkness, hopeful she’d caught the “little pest.” But, as life would have it, the universe had other plans.

Instead of a mouse, the trap had caught the tail of a poisonous snake.

And as she leaned in, the snake struck—right at her ankle.

The farmer panicked. He rushed her to the infirmary, praying for her recovery. When she returned, she had a fever. Everyone knew that in farm-world logic, fever equals chicken porridge. So, the farmer grabbed the hen and—well… let’s just say the hen’s “not my problem” attitude came back to visit her.

But the fever didn’t go away.

Neighbors came to call, bringing all the well-meaning sympathy (and unsolicited advice) that sickbeds usually attract. To feed them, the farmer slaughtered the pig—the one who had promised prayers but no practical help.

Days passed, heavy and heartbreaking, and eventually the farmer’s wife passed away. The funeral was large, filled with grieving friends and extended family. And to feed the many who came to pay respects, the farmer slaughtered the cow—the one who said the problem didn’t concern him.

And the mouse?
Still alive.
Still small.
Still carrying a truth too big for his tiny frame.

This story may sound tragic, but it hits close to home because we’ve all been the hen, the pig, or the cow at least once. We’ve all heard someone say, “I’m struggling,” and thought:

“That’s tough… but it’s not really my problem.”

Or, “I’ll pray for you,” which is beautiful—unless it’s an excuse to avoid showing up in real, tangible ways.

Or, “I sympathize,” but without offering help, presence, or partnership.

But life doesn’t work in tidy, isolated compartments. When one of us is hurting, the ripple will eventually reach us. Scripture puts it plainly:

“If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” – 1 Corinthians 12:26

And Galatians 6:2 echoes it:
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way,  you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

We were never designed to ignore one another’s pain.

The hen thought the mouse’s problem was too small.
The pig thought his prayers were enough.
The cow thought the danger was irrelevant.
But all were tragically wrong.

The mouse didn’t need them to solve everything—he just needed them to care, to show up, to stand by him. And in refusing, they unknowingly turned their backs on themselves.

The wisdom for us?

Your neighbor’s problem is never just your neighbor’s problem.

What injures one heart eventually weakens the whole community.
What threatens one person’s safety eventually shakes the entire house.
What breaks one soul affects everyone connected to it.

You never know how your presence—your time, your empathy, your prayers paired with action—might change someone’s story.

Sometimes saying, “That’s not my problem,” is the quickest way to create a much bigger problem later.

Life is one shared journey. One winding road. One big house where everyone hears the same “snap” eventually.

So next time someone cries out for help—whether with a whisper or a squeak—don’t stand by like the hen, don’t offer empty comfort like the pig, and don’t shrug it off like the cow.

Listen.
Show up.
Support.
Stand beside them.

Because when we carry each other, we all survive. And when we ignore each other, we all suffer.

Choose to be the friend who answers the squeak.

The world has enough mousetraps already.