The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Those of you in Nebraska know that we’ve gotten quite a bit of rain this year. Which is good in terms of things like corn and flowers, and very bad in terms of things like flies and mosquitoes. I met some of the flies while I was weeding today. But first I coated myself – and I do mean coated – with a greasy layer of good old-fashioned bug spray. It didn’t keep the flies away, but it kept them off. So, instead of landing and biting me, they just buzzed around and around. I am absolutely convinced that if I could have zoomed in on one of their faces, I would have seen blind rage. I’ve never heard flies sound so frustrated in all my life. Ha, ha.

But that wasn’t the end of my run-in with God’s nature. The sun had set a good hour ago, and the western horizon was just smudging the rest of the light and color off the page so the ink could take over. I stepped out the door with a careless glance to the west and paused for a moment, stunned. A crescent moon was hanging low in the sky, and it was in a perfect line with three other stars. Like a magical picture a child might draw: Star, star, moon, star. All in a row, just like that. I shook my head, amazed, and got in my car. But I’d gotten less than a quarter mile down the road before I was stopped by wonder again. I wish you could have been there. An adolescent field of corn stretched away to my right, which is a common enough site in Nebraska. But it was what was in the corn that arrested my attention. Staring out my rolled-down driver’s side window, I saw literally hundreds of blinking on-and-off fireflies. Like they’d all gotten together earlier that day and decided to give a concert at 10:00 pm sharp. They were singing, I am sure, a song to echo the wonder of the stars, which were bright and silent above them. The show was incredible. But I tore myself away and drove on. In the next two miles I met a rabbit, a skunk, and an opossum. Wow. I guess nature came out in full-force this year.

I finally got to the house and entered, slightly dazed, I think. Went to give the dog a scratch, and he rolled over. I felt a bump. Uh-oh. Tic. Ew. So, I pulled it off. Then I found another one . . . and another . . . and another. All told, I pulled nineteen tics off that dog. Yeah, nineteen. I promptly drowned them in a glass of water and poured them down the garbage disposal. I’m still cringing and saying “Ugh.”

So, there you have it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Between awe and disgust, I’m not quite sure how I feel about God’s generosity in nature this year. But it’s been a good – if slightly comical – reminder of the simple things: Never forget to say thank you. Take time out to be in awe (Do you remember catching fireflies as a kid?). Blood-sucking insects are gross, but your dog can’t help it, so pull ‘em off. Personally, I’d rather have a world without tics and flies. But annoyance over them should never keep me from enjoying a firefly show. There’s beauty enough, if only we’ll care to look for it.

Perspective

So, I had a bit of a scare the other day. All this week and next, I am house-sitting for a family from church with two dogs, a cat, and a four-wheeler. Dangerous, I know. They live in an almost mansion of a house out in the country with a winding driveway, a pond, and lots of trees. They also have one of those walk-in refrigerator/freezer units that you see in restaurant kitchens. Well, since I’ve got the house all to myself, I also have the unique joy – experience, rather – of cooking for myself. If you’ve never tried it, you’re welcome over anytime.

Two nights ago, I wanted stir-fry. It had to be stir-fry. So, I happily slipped on a pair of lime green flip-flops and went out to the garage. That’s where the refrigerator/freezer is. I stepped into the refrigerator, hearing the door suction-cup shut behind me and then opened the door into the freezer, noting as I entered that the thermometer read 1.5 degrees. Cool. The frozen pack of stir-fry vegetables was against the far wall, and as I reached for it, the door closed behind me. Without a care in the world, I grabbed my precious cargo of iced-over food and went to the door. For a handle, it had a round button about the size of my palm, and you were supposed to push on this, and the door would open. Well, I pushed. And nothing happened. Hm. That’s weird. I pushed again, a little harder this time. Still nothing.

Several pushs and a rather useless shoulder-ramming-steel-object later, I was beginning to get a little worried. Random, really not at all comforting thoughts began to fly with all the cheer of kamikaze pilots through my mind. When was my next appointment with someone else of the human race? Twenty-four hours? Longer? How long can a tank-top, shorted, flip-flop wearing human survive in 1.5 degree weather? Can a dog outside hear you scream from inside a walk-in freezer? Not that that would really do any good. Does a cell phone get reception through two steel doors? And if so, why, oh, why hadn’t I brought my phone in here with me?

But during this time, I had by no means been idle. While my brain was preoccupied with the kamikazes, my hands were busy with that stubborn little doorknob. Twisting and turning and pulling and doing all sorts of things that far exceeded the instruction of that one simple push. Well, since I’m writing this now, you know I got out okay. And actually, I wasn’t even in there for all that long. Under a minute, for sure, though it seemed more like hours. I still don’t know quite what happened. Maybe the door was just jammed. Maybe it really was accidentally locked, and God did a miracle. Maybe I just didn’t push quite right the first few times. But suddenly, the freezer door was open, and I was free from my cold little cell.

Talking to my friend later about the incident, I heard something profound. Simple, but definitely profound. “Well, God obviously has a purpose for you on earth still.” Hm. Isn’t that true? Staring into the face of death has this funny way of putting life into perspective. Uncomplicated, uncluttered, true perspective. I have a purpose. God has me alive right here, right now, because I have a purpose.

I have never in all my life been more grateful for cooked vegetables.