Times of Change and Mosquitoes

As I was washing dishes yesterday, I realize how many changes my family was going through. But I think the scariest part of realizing changes is that there are more changes that I don't know about.

I know that both boys are going to attend school full time, and I am working part-time. But I don't know how school is going to change them, and how I am going to adapt to not having someone constantly demanding my attention.

I know that we need to find a new church, but I don't know what church that will be and how it will change our lives.

I know that I need to face my insecurities and fears about the uncertainty of life and the possible failures of all the new things I am trying, but failure in those things is still a strong possibility. The potential for hurt, both given and received, haunts the back of my mind. The sense of inadequacy argues with the "I have earned this position." My tendency toward arrogance fights with my longing for humility. My desire for certainty contradicts my faith in an unchanging and loving God. Hope struggles with disappointment. Control undermines Love. Passion wrestles laziness.

And these physical changes are the battleground of this continual journey toward reflecting God's image here on earth. I sometimes wish that sanctification was like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly - one big change and then we are like god. But sometimes it seems more like constant metamorphoses of a larva, where you can't tell is it going to become a full grown insect, or is it a snake shedding its skin. Will there ever be that full-grown, winged creature? Or will I only become a bigger and longer worm, wrestling with the dirt that holds me down, but fills this life.

The analogy breaks down. Insects and worms and snakes are too fascinating to use their derogatory stereotypes. But while on the topic of insects, I have a story to tell.

Sunrise on a cloudy day

Friday morning, in Maine, I woke up early. It must have been around 5, and I couldn't fall back to sleep. Something or Someone told me to get up. I argued with it a minute, until I felt Him say, "you are going to miss something I want to show you if you don't get up right now." So I got up, dressed, and put on my raincoat. The sky threatened rain, but it hadn't started yet. As I walked down the path to our little beach, the mosquitoes buzzed around and in my hood, I almost turned back to get the bug spray, but I didn't want to wake anyone, so I kept going, hoping that the morning breeze off the bay would blow the mosquitoes away.

Secret cove

It didn't. There was no morning breeze. If I stopped moving, the mosquitoes swarmed. I complained to God, "I came down here to listen to you, but I can't think, I can't be still, because of these mosquitoes." And He said, "Exactly." My mind turned to the many things the buzz around my head on any given day, stories, worries, ways to solve problems, mistakes, prayer requests, requests for attention, interruptions. These things that sting and annoy whenever I try to be still. Those things were distracting me from God.

But on the beach, I just kept walking back and forth, exploring a little, finding a stream that flowed out between rocks that we couldn't get over, except at low tide. The mosquitoes weren't so bad when I kept moving. Again I heard, "Exactly." I have been waiting for the distractions to stop so that I could seek God in stillness and silence, but that wasn't working. Instead I had to seek God in the movement, in the busyness, in the disruptions of the day. If the mosquitoes of life were keeping me from God, then I needed to keep moving to find God.

Sunset at the same beach, but on a different day.
Can you see the mosquitoes?

Then it started to rain. A light sprinkle at first, but soon a steady rainfall. Although my raincoat was supposed to be waterproof, it was closer to water resistant. I could feel the water seep through the fabric and get my shirt wet. My shorts, sticking out from under that jacket began to drip. My socks and sneakers were drenched. But the mosquitoes were gone. Yet again, "Exactly!" There will be times of stillness and no distractions, but it will probably be in a downpour, when things aren't completely comfortable.

I laughed and cried at the same time. Joy filled me. A lightness of spirit, with the sense of having rested, filled me.

So now as I look at all the changes, at my fears and insecurities, at the potential for growth or failure, I have found myself thinking, "Mosquitoes. Keep moving, and just wait until it rains."