I found an inchworm in my bowl of berries this morning. It was hidden under the purple-black-blues of the sweet fruits, a ways away from the tart red of the fuzzy raspberries on the right side of my plate.
I took it on my index finger and it wriggled and wormed and rolled around on my pink skin until my dad told me to squish it, but I looked on it with compassion and took it outside to the leafy garden where the little guy inched its body around the jagged edge of a leaf. I watched it move and wondered to myself what a day in the life of an inchworm would look like. I will never know, but it seemed it’d take an entire day for it to find its way around such a small plant. What a change in perspective.
In a sense, I feel like an inchworm edging her way around her budding world. Belonging, but not fully. Seeking, but not (yet) finding. There is some frustration to skirting around the edges of things, halfway in between the altar and the door. The mediocre life is… mediocre, to say the most. I don’t want to get too comfortable because complacency is dangerous. Ideally, I don’t wish to spend an entire day exploring one leaf. But I suppose I am learning humility, to be aware of my smallness. Everyday I am confronted with my many, many weaknesses. Knowing myself instills a fear in me; it is mainly a fear of the future, coupled with the budding (blossoming, actually) excitement of being away from home and surrounded with all sorts of people and activities and experiences. Yet… yet, while I am still that inchworm who has yet to dive into the plant’s core, I will be humble, or pray to be. I want to be humble so that I can be prayerful.
Prayerful about the new, that I may not forget the old. That I may not forget the compassionate hands which brought me out into this leafy garden to explore. Prayerful that I may not fear man over God. Prayerful that I will be discerning about the relationships and opportunities I invest in. Prayerful that I will seek His will at all times. Honestly, all this is too much to ask for from a simple inchworm who would rather bask in the warm glow of the sun and stuff herself with greens. All the same, I know there is a better life. I will never know the day in the life of an inchworm, but I was not created for such purposes. And I am okay with—rather, infinitely grateful for—this truthful reassurance.