They crowded around the tiny body, now curled tightly into a wooly ball. The oldest one held a stick hesitantly, trying to decide if he should be bold and poke the unmoving creature.
"You shouldn't have stepped on it," he said finally, with the air of one who has considered these things at length. "He was doing fine before you squished him."
The little sister's eyes were wide and grave. The corners of her mouth turned down as if drawn that way. "I sowwy," she said quietly.
The caterpillar didn't move.
As they stared at it, the boy set his stick to the side and started to stroke the fuzzy back with one finger. "Look at its segments," he said. "You can tell if it is old or not, but I don't know how, exactly." Looking up at me with curious eyes, he asked, "Does it have more brown than black? Does that mean more snow or less snow this year?"
He paused to consider, but not long enough for me to answer him.
"Anyway," he said, "it might have lost its life. I guess we should put it in the garden." He picked it up gently, transferring it with care to a mulched flowerbed beside the paved path we had been walking.
I watched them watching the caterpillar, and I marveled at such tiny people marveling at a life seemingly less significant and less important even than theirs.
Such tiny things. Such little, nearly invisible bits of life. They don't seem to matter much...yet how infused they are with their Creator, how marvelous and carefully made! How precious and of what inestimable value are they!
How much do I miss, busy with my daily to-do list and my smartphone? Am I letting the world pass me by as I scroll through my email? Am I so distracted by my worries as I stare off into space that I forget to notice the tiny cracks in the sidewalks that beckon my children to kneel, to examine, to wonder?
Nothing is lost on the breath of God,
Nothing is lost forever...
No feather too light, no hair too fine,
No flower too brief in its glory,
No drop in the ocean, no dust in the air,
But is counted and told in God's story.
- NOTHING IS LOST ON THE BREATH OF GOD by Colin Gibson
© 1996 Hope Publishing Company , Carol Stream, IL 60188. www.hopepublishing.com
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
God sees even the littlest things. So do my children. And by taking the time to be fully present with them, so can I.
God, grant that we may all have eyes to see your glory in the tiniest of places.
How can you make space in your day today to notice the smallest ways in which God is present?
Copyright 2014 Abbey Dupuy
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