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.
