Finding God in ladybugs and other little things

Today was a long day. Not like an ahh, relaxing summer kind of long day, but like an I’ve been working to the bone since the crack of dawn kind of long day. I spent hours and hours working on an over 25 page research project in between caring for kids and doing normal household things.

Besides that, I’ve just been in such a funk lately! I’ve been feeling sick for about five days now. I’ve been frustrated about my sudden and unexplainable weight gain. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed with the grandeur of my doctoral program research, reading, and writing tasks, and all around pent-up about life. I’m tired of coronavirus being a thing, I wish I knew how to solve the political and social issues our society is struggling with, and I just want unlimited funds, okay? And world peace!

Besides all this, I can’t remember the last time I just had enough margin in my schedule and my life to freely do the things I love: blogging, journaling, writing, painting, musicing (yes, that can be a verb!). 

As I edged closer to finishing my project this evening, I decided to place a Drive Up order for Target to get some epsom salts and kettle chips. All I wanted to do was turn in my project and sink into a salty, fragrant tub with a little bowl of salty, crispy, kettle-cooked potato chips! So when I got the notice that there was an issue with my Drive Up order and it was being put on hold, I called the store. When no one answered, I drove to the store. When no one at the store had any idea how to help me, I decided to cancel the order and just go ahead and pick up the things I came for and that I might as well knock out some grocery shopping while I was already out in my mask and everything…

I drove home an hour later feeling utterly and completely depleted.

As I was sulking myself into a funky heart space, and not in a good way, I looked out my window while stopped at a redlight and saw one of those white parachute fluffs floating by, probably from a Cottonwood or Poplar tree. I know it sounds insignificant, but I live in the city. It was dark outside, yet the world still felt hustley and bustley. But in the midst of all of that, this beautiful little spore (lol!) peacefully drifted a semicircle around my car. It was so unhurried. So at peace. So present and happy. The streetlight casted a glow on it, and I don’t know why, but I just felt a spark of joy in my heart and an overwhelming sense of peace.

For the rest of my short drive home, I kept thinking about how blessed I am. How blessed my family is. My husband and I have one another. Our parents and siblings are all alive and well. We have beautiful, sweet, healthy, happy children. We have a comfortable place to call home and an abundance of food to eat. 

As I carried two armfuls of groceries inside after parking, pondering these things, I looked up at my front door to see a sole Ladybug, vibrant and red, lively, crawling across the top threshold of our door entry. I know these things seem unimportant to a lot of people, but sometimes, it’s the little things like seeing a Ladybug, which is notorious for symbolizing luck, joy, and prosperity, that make life feel full of magic, awe, and wonder. 

It can be really hard in life to lose sight of these things. It is so easy to get caught up in pettiness, in being easily flustered and frustrated, in feeling the pressure to perform and to  accomplish many things, in letting the attitudes and energies of others overwhelm you with weight that you aren’t meant to carry. But we can’t let these things block us from living in the fullness of joy that God wants us to receive, dwelling on the good things. We have all good things; we just have to position our hearts toward Jesus and let gratitude find us, wherever we may be.

So, here I am. I’m typing this, at the end of my very long day, from a fragrant, salty tub, and all I can say is that I am so thankful to have a God who hears our cries, knows our hearts, and wants to comfort us… even if all it takes is showing up in Ladybugs or fluffy seeds from local trees.

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