Most mornings I go down to the pool. I don’t really swim – don’t like getting my ears in the water – but I walk back and forth across the middle of the pool. Some days the water is clear, and I walk without stopping. Some days I stop to rescue various insects that have found themselves out of their depth. Occasionally it seems as though the entire insect population of our area has decided to take a dip…
Most of these rescues are for small creatures – beetles or waspy type things. Sometimes I come across a bee. And, very rarely, it’s bigger – a very large stick insect, or a dragonfly. Unfortunately, they’re often already dead, so I place them beside the pool. There are mornings, though, when I can actually save a little being, and that cheers me up for the day. I love saving bees and yesterday I scooped up a butterfly, which I thought was dead, but started fluttering cautiously once the sun dried off its wings.
Here’s a dragonfly from the other day – sadly I was too late to save it, but it’s still beautiful.
Many years ago my Babe and I were in a takeaway waiting for our chips for tea. We lived in Southampton then, and it was that fuggy type of atmosphere you get when the weather’s cold but you’re sitting in a small shop where there’s food cooking… the air was humid and there was moisture running down the windows. Just beside the door there was an insect trying frantically to get out – beating against the glass, seeing the fading light outside and wanting to be out there. We tried our best to guide it towards the door, but it kept getting away from us and back to the window.
I am so much bigger than the insects I try to help, and to them my guiding hand must seem like just another obstacle they need to avoid. It’s frustrating for me – I don’t want to see them drown – but I can understand the fear of something you can’t see or comprehend but that looks like it’s in your way when you’re just trying to survive. I manage to rescue most things (although a fair number are already dead) but a few I just have to leave. All their fearful dodging takes them too far out for me to reach.
Tomorrow is Good Friday. It might feel as though I’m trying to shoehorn a lesson in here, but both these situations remind me of the Easter story – of the times in my life when I’ve been floundering in deep waters but not quite seeing the divine hand reaching out to lift me. Thankfully, God is patient…
Tomorrow, we will go to church and sing and eat hot cross buns. We will, once again, take the time to remember the love that God has for us.
And after the Easter season is over, we’ll go back to our everyday lives, where we will still frequently catch glimpses of that other kingdom…
1000 Fields of Roses 