Little things . . . Once upon a yard, I collected maple samaras. Ladybugs. Pea-sized mystery-spheres I found under shrubs — until Dad explained bunny droppings.
To this day, I still watch for meaning amid the miniscule.
Friends, here we are again, between Noels, past and pending. I’ve been reading about creatures that might have shared that long-ago Holy Night. Welcome to “Little Things: Between Noels, Part I (of IV).”
Because little things are a mixed bag.
For instance: Years ago, after our daughter returned from a mission trip tormented by hatching head lice, Dreamer and I spent hours combing sticky nits from strand after strand of her thick hair.
Parental love to the rescue — liberating one cherished, vulnerable scalp.
Aesop said, “No act of kindness no matter how small is ever wasted.”
Do our grown children remember our past, painstaking efforts? To paraphrase Blaise Pascal, When little things afflict us, even small actions can console us.
Two sisters in Holland, arrested for rescuing Jews during WWII, were remanded to Ravensbrück concentration camp. In Barracks 28, the ten Boom girls slept on reeking pallets swarming with fleas. Their prayers of gratitude for being alive and together included repeated pleas for relief from the infestation.
The vermin, however, thrived.
And those blood-sucking parasites? Turns out, they repelled sadistic prison guards. No inspections. No beatings. No rapes.
Compassion to the rescue — paradoxically — via pestilence.
So consider the likelihood of itch mites infesting Bethlehem straw: Some types bite; others burrow beneath the skin and lay eggs, causing a contagious, festering rash.
Did they forgo their nature and leave baby Jesus in peace? Oh, I hope so! And if not, do mites possess any redeeming qualities?
I Google . . . and find . . . no crucial link in the food chain, no rare source of protein, no secret component to help cure disease.
And yet. The utterly despised were granted proximity to Emmanuel, God with us. Compassionate, cherishing Love vulnerably offered to all creation — no matter how repellent or negligible.
Sometimes, it’s the little things. Head lice, fleas, itch mites — one Creator, three ordeals. Head-scratchers, all. Like the teachings of Jesus: If you want to be first, embrace being last. Find yourself by losing yourself.
Truth nips: It gets under our skin and bides its time, hatching later perhaps, as revelation.
Merciful, mysterious God, thank you for your enduring forbearance and endless largesse — embodied for us through, and in spite of, so many little things.
Friend, where might a dash of compassion take you next?
“Anyone who thinks they are too small to make a difference has never tried to fall asleep with a mosquito in the room.” —The Dalai Lama
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash