There was a stink bug bumbling
around my office yesterday afternoon. I had no idea those things could fly. And what a feeble flight it was... The smelly little winged fellow with odd flat
frame was running into things left and right, making annoying buzzing sounds as
he faltered.
I was torn, feeling sorry for his displacement -yet not at all
relishing the idea of sharing office space with Sir Stink. If I were to squash
him, I’d be assaulted by his malodorous scent. Worse yet, I’d be reproached by
my daughter who has managed (with her extreme sensitivity to all God’s
creatures) to supplant my own internal subconscious voice. Without even telling
her of a bug-squashing misdeed, it is as though I hear her plainly in my mind.
She’s like a constant sentinel, standing by to observe and assign guilt to all
senseless (and accidental) acts of insect maltreatment and slaughter.
I guess I could have activated the
Shelly family “Catch and Release Program” initiating a covert operation at school…
But he wouldn't stop MOVING and in light of the steady stream of small sick and injured patients at the door
to my nurse’s office, I instead watched this pitiful bug throw himself gustily
into the privacy curtain, heave himself against the wooden clothing cabinet, and
methodically bombard his beetle head against the curled paper artwork adorning
my walls. It was rather pathetic.
I looked for him when I arrived at
work this morning but he was gone. He failed to appear all day and I actually found
myself stewing in a ridiculous concern for his wellbeing. I imagined him counting
his losses behind the filing cabinet (the full futility of his escape now
clear.) I wondered if perhaps he was suffering from symptoms of a severe
concussion, no longer able to count backward or remember what he ate for breakfast.
Or maybe his adventure had widened; he might have made it successfully out my
door and was now perusing the research section of the media center to discover
ways a lone halyomorpha halys can
survive inside an inhospitable school building.
Fabulous. Thanks to my daughter and
my own genetic bent toward caretaking (if
not codependency) I have wasted more than a day’s supply of precious brain
energy and empathy on a stink bug.
But that bug and I have some common
tendencies. I too need to learn to be still. Had he just stopped leaning on his
own ability to extract himself from the situation, he would have found himself
in a much better place. Had he landed to wait for some assistance, he would
have been easy to scoop up and deliver to the lovely school courtyard (or at
least the grassy area by the front entrance.) How often have I gotten myself
into some debacle I wish I hadn’t and spent an inordinate amount of time
banging my head against a wall as I tried to backpedal? Let’s just say it is too
often to count.
Since my brain fails to adequately remember
what Psalm 46 has sensibly instructed, that old stink bug was a good reminder that
sometimes it is a good idea to do a little trusting while I try to be still. No
head-banging required as I wait for someone greater to lift me and my struggle
out of the depths.
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| photo credit nopests.com |
