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Monday, August 20 2018


I resist the urge to fling him in disgust as his tiny feet grasp my fingers. That would be rude. I try not to be rude to anyone, even little Volkswagon beetle bugs. It is the time of year when June bugs and crickets descend upon us. The chickens eat them like candy. The Livestock Guardian Pup has been known to fight the barnyard birds for fat bugs. June bugs and cicadas. Cicadas, (katydids, if you live in the south) are a version of K9 Poprocks. Like the chickens Bramble is attracted to their loud buzzing and is quick to snatch them up or steal one from a bird and run through the yard with the wings beating against the inside of her cheeks. Explosive candy. Poprocks. The cicadas are a minor amusement for me. Every one that the dogs or chickens eat during the day won't be here to attract the copperheads when the sun goes down.

Life Lesson: If you're juicy and tasty, don't attract a lot of attention.

Another Life Lesson: When you're drowning don't run from the hand trying to rescue you.

Every morning I spend an unreasonable amount of time scooping june bugs and crickets out of barnyard water troughs.  June bugs are easy. They are floating Volkswagons who helplessly paddle their legs in slow motion, going nowhere. The hardest part of my task is resisting the urge to fling them off my fingers as they gratefully grasp at hope of a rescue. I don't. Because it's rude. I dump them on the ground and bid them farewell. I look first now though. One day I was scooping out and dumping bugs before I realized the dog and chickens were at my feet, snatching them up like popcorn. Now I look before I dump.

The crickets are much more difficult to rescue. They cling to the side of the water trough like rock climbers on a cliff.

These must be rescued or the brutal sun will kill them in a few hours. Some already float in the water, waiting to drown. So each morning I make it my chore to scoop them out of the trough. And they flee from my outstetched hand. Here I am, their Guardian Angel, and the ungrateful little snots run from me. The ones clinging to the tank, leap into the water and dive deeper to avoid my fingers. The floaters become divers. I watch their attempts to flee rescue with patient amusement. They will come up. Eventually. They'll run out of breath and finally gasp their way to the surface. Then, after they've exhausted all other options, I can scoop them up and place them safely on dry ground.

One morning as I was waiting for a particularly stubborn cricket to get exhausted and give up, I had an epiphany. How often are we just like this cricket? Running in vain from a patient outstretched hand there to rescue us. Interesting food for thought. I frequently have little barnyard epiphanies that bring me a wee closer to understanding my relationship with The Creator. Lessons in the barnyard illuminate God's word and put it in terms I can understand. I'm not a Biblical scholar. Far from it. I'm one of those folks who when asked to find a particular passage, still flips through the whole Bible in a furtive race to find the right spot before it becomes apparent that I'm clueless about where to look.  I don't let it embarrass me anymore. And I don't hold it against God. Sometimes His lessons are in the written word, and other times the lessons can be found with a humble cricket.

When the rescuing hand from above comes to save you, don't dive deeper and run from it. Perhaps your Creator sent someone to save you from your current pickle.

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Posted by: forensicfarmgirl AT 12:22 pm   |  Permalink   |  0 Comments  |  Email

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