Thursday, August 4

Shoo, Fly.

It was 5 a.m. and I just couldn't get the buzzing sound out of my head. It wasn't because I was tired or because I had left my iPod on in my ears, again. I was actually surrounded by what seemed like 54 flies. That's right, little insects with legs and wings and eyes bigger than rubies which-I am convinced-have a visibility range of 4.5 miles. Regardless of how sneaky I try to be, those little pests know the minute I reach for my fly swatter. (Cleverly named I would say. You can swat just about anything with it, except for a stinkin' fly.) I give a quick flick of my wrist, sending that twisty wire with a plastic net forcefully through the air and hope to kill as many as I can.

Today, I was a conquerer. I was surprisingly successful. Each time I moved I destroyed another one! These babies were dropping like...well, flies! The kitchen looked like a battlefield. Little black nuisances covered the stone-tiled floor. Part of me felt victorious, while the other half of me felt remorseful. I hate death, in any circumstance. I watched as one lone pest crawled across the floor. Surveying the damage, mourning his loss. I'm sure that I killed all 8 of his wives, 437 of his children, and probably his leaders. He was a lone bee. Fly.

I couldn't quite capture this one; he was quick and sly. He moved with great intention to avoid that awful force of wind. And, after too many attempts and countless times of possibly looking like a fool, swatting at the air, I gave up. I decided he was a single, non-threatening bug. He wouldn't do any harm, right?

And I wonder how often we do our best to clean out our luggage, remove dirty old socks and food stains called sin. How hard do we work to get rid of the masses that create bad behavior, discomfort, harm, foul, and hurt to our lives and other lives, but forget that last, little piece? Once our floor is wiped clean, do we walk away and figure that everything is taken care of? Or do we check the grout, and under the sinks, and in the corners, for those nearly invisible segments that might be lurking?

More often than not, I let that last, teeny contagion continue to reside. I let it capture, claim, and keep its territory in my heart. And then one day, out of the blue clear sky, it reappears, after lurking behind the crevices, to remind me that it still exists. And it buzzes in my ear, lingers on my shoulders, and tugs on my chest. And then, it reproduces.

So, see? Wouldn't it have been much easier to swat and destroy each and all of the pests, rather than leaving one that seemed harmless? I think so. And I am a conquerer. God tells me so.

1 comment:

  1. I was going to make an insightful comment here, but when I was the one by Montanna, I figured that just about summed it up.... :)

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