We have a Praying Mantis that has taken up residence on our roof. I'm guessing our new house guest was drawn to the beetles, insects, crickets, and Blattodea- some of a mantis' favorite munchies- that may also be living up there. But quite honestly if we have anything remotely close to a "Blattodea" on our roof, I may have to move. Not that I have the first clue as to what one is. However, I could be wrong about all of this given the divine nature of Praying Mantises. It seems that in many cultures, these insect critters are a symbol of stillness and something of an ambassador for the benefits of meditation, getting quiet, and calming our minds. The Kalahari Bushmen in Africa go a bit further in worshiping Praying Mantis, considering them the oldest symbol of God. They believe that they often come with messages that may benefit and guide one's life. (https://usmantis.com)
Of course, I didn't know any of this when I took "our" Praying Mantis's picture. I didn't realize there was a divine messenger wanting to guide me on my way. I just did what I often do. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly took a picture. I tried to capture the moment, in place of enjoying and taking in a moment that could not fully be captured. I'm guessing this is all tied up in my confusion that possession and ownership seem somehow better than attention, care, and presence. If I own something and am able to contain it then I have it. It's mine. It's not lost, right? Then why do I always seem to misplace and lose my dang cell phone.... something I've owned and possessed for a long time?
I'm not sure why it's so hard to simply be present to wonder and mystery in place of feeling like I have to box them up and make them mine. I would love to just marvel at a beautiful sunset, take in the wonder of the Milky Way, delight in the joy of a child at play, hold the beauty of a flower with my eyes, or rest in an ocean sunrise without feeling the need to have evidence of them in a photo album. I would love to trust that what I take in with my heart, ears, touch, and eyes remains with me, and in me, whether I have a picture of it or not. And the thing is, I do. I have.
I still hold the memory of our youngest daughter hopping down some stairs, her ponytail, sticking straight up, happy as any child could be. Carrie Huneycutt, long gone to be with Jesus now, is still with me, unable to speak but stroking my hand in the nursing home. The bounty of flowers that flourished under a drain pipe for a season, a night sky of stars that cradled me and other campers to sleep on a ball field, another beautiful Fall on HWY 109, endless tables of delicious meals and life-giving conversations, holding the hand of someone I love, and a friend's artwork shimmering with light and hope are all still with me without any tangible evidence whatsoever that these too are mine. I have no pictures of any of them. It's only by some intention and a lot of grace that I have been able to take them in and be present to their wonder and mystery. Knowing this helps me believe I can do it again. Which is good because there are some things I want to be present to and take in now.
My dear, ever-grateful, oh-so-giving, good Dad is dying. Our youngest daughter, that happy child of 20 years ago, is engaged to be married. A dear friend's daughter is beginning a new round of chemotherapy, the denomination that nurtured and still supports me in my faith is in the midst of some excruciating labor, another friend is launching a new life-giving ministry, my good spouse, week after week, studies faithfully to preach the Gospel, there is all that I see and cry over on the evening news, there are flowers I hope to plant, a porch that is always calling my name, books I hope to read, conversations I want to keep having, places I would like to go and see, work I hope I can embrace, and cookies I want to bake. I want to be present for all of this. I want to care for and pay attention to the people, in all of this, that I hold and see. With God's help, I want to take it all in. I don't want to look away from any of it, even that which has already broken my heart. More than any pictures that may come from any of this, I want to show up for the wonder and mystery that's before me.
You may remember Jesus encouraging his followers not to worry with the following words:
".....do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Matthew 6:25- 26
These are not easy words to hear or read at a time when there seems to be nothing but cause for worry. And while our worry is sincere and very real, I've found myself wondering if this is also Jesus' way of encouraging us to be present to what's before us. In place of "worrying" about all that is happening and may happen, "Look at the birds..." by taking it in, and not looking away." We won't eliminate the suffering by doing so, but we will reinforce Christ's presence for good. I can't respond to something I choose not to care about. But I can lend my heart, prayers, words, and even hands and feet to something I choose to be present to and take in. I don't have to solve every problem, right every wrong, "possess" the answers, or "own" a plan. I just have to be open to the wonder and mystery before me. If I am, that's when "the message" and "guidance" may come. Rumi once said, "Listen to silence, it has so much to say." Perhaps that's part of what Jesus's words are encouraging here. As we take things in, are present to what's before us, find ways to simply be still, and listen we may discover faithful ways to respond to the worries of the world.
Perhaps it's the message "our" Praying Mantis is offering me, and possibly you, as well. Be Still. Take It In. "Are you not much more valuable to God?" Which is good because there are some things I want to be present to and take in now. Maybe there's something before you as well. With God's unwavering presence, attentive love, and help, may it be so. For all of us, may it be so.
Blessings, Leslee
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