My sweetie lives out in the "country", in a strikingly beautiful valley near the Smokies, surrounded by three different mountain ranges.
During a recent visit on a bright spring day, my eyes started itching. Then I began hacking and sneezing and coughing. Having evaded the endemic allergies during my 18 years in Atlanta, I was a little slow to realize what was happening. Finally it dawned on me as I sat on the porch overlooking the field next door.
"Is that hay?" I asked suspiciously.
"Yup."
It was official, I had hay fever! Graceful suffering is not one of my strong suits, so I kvetched and groaned my way through the next 24 hours, lamenting our proximity to the culprit grasses, until a good afternoon rain cleared the air.
That night I ventured back onto the porch to see the stars, cautiously inhaling and eyeing the field, prepared to bolt if it suddenly launched pollen missiles at me.
And then, as my eyes grew accustomed to the black night, I saw that the entire grassy expanse was alight with hundreds of fireflies, the first of the season. I can honestly say I've never seen anything like this vision. It was almost like looking at a reflection of the starry sky in a pond. I held my breath, and not because I was afraid of getting dusted.
The field of fireflies was a good reminder for me. I forget that I don't know what form blessings will come in. Sometimes they look (or feel) like misfortunes, especially if things aren't turning out like I think they should. Sometimes I curse the package and miss the blessing altogether, often until months or years later.
Many people have heard the story of Cory ten Boom, a Holocaust survivor, who in her book The Hiding Place relates an incident which taught her this principle. She and her sister, Betsy, had just been transferred to the worst German prison camp they had seen yet, Ravensbruck. Upon entering the barracks, they found them extremely overcrowded and flea-infested. Their Bible reading that morning had reminded them to rejoice always, pray constantly, and give thanks in all circumstances. Betsy told Corrie to stop and thank the Lord for every detail of their new living quarters. Corrie at first flatly refused to give thanks for the fleas, but Betsy persisted. She finally succumbed. During the months spent at that camp, they were surprised to find how openly they could hold Bible study and prayer meetings without the brutal interference of the guards that the other women's barracks experienced. It was several months later when they learned that the guards would not enter the barracks because of the fleas.
These past months have been challenging to say the least. But this morning, talking with my friend Kitty, I realized that my life has been, and likely will continue to be, filled with hay and fleas and all manner of things I can label as "bad", especially when I'm afraid, or uncomfortable. The invitation I hear today is to give thanks in all things...remembering not to pray to be relieved of hay fever, but to be able to see the fireflies.
