Fireflies and 1 Corinthians 13

Beautiful devastation is probably the best way for me to describe my summer.

I spent the first half of my time there like an arrogant martyr, carrying a list around with me of all the amenities of which I’d been deprived (you needn’t look further than my previous post for evidence of that), ready to launch assault with said litany in its entirety on anyone who should ask “how’s Ohio going?” …For those of you victim to that, I’m so very sorry.

Things don’t always “work out” just because you think you have good intentions, and just because people live lives that vary from the way you live yours does NOT mean they are the ones who need to be fixed.

I have a tendency to think that I understand everything and that I have the answers and explanations to all questions. It is a crushing blow to realize that, in a scenario you originally viewed as a rescue mission, you are the only one thrashing around in the water, and your ‘good intentions’ had only been successful in damaging those who had never been in harm’s way to begin with.

I’ve found that believing you know what’s best for someone is the worst way to love them. It insinuates that who they are isn’t enough, and that they must become someone they aren’t in order to earn love and acceptance from you and (what’s even more damaging for us Christians) from the God whose love you represent. If I…can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge…but have not love, I am nothing. Only after being made painfully aware of my complete depravity did things turn around.

Ok that was the devastation part, here’s the beautiful.


Every evening, the sun would drop quickly out of the sky and attempt to hide, burying itself deep in the thick and rippling stalks of corn. But the moon, rising out of the low soybean fields across the street, would always know where the sun had gone due to the violent pink sky the hasty sun had left smeared in its wake. And so the moon would begin its long and labored pursuit of the sun, only to discover that once it had gracefully landed among the cornfields, the sun had already escaped from there and could be seen instead peeking gleefully over the soybeans, again victorious, poised to spring skyward and begin the game anew. It was during the first leg of this celestial hide-and-seek that the fireflies would emerge. Nothing else captivated my mind and quieted my spirit like those bugs with the glowing bottoms. They would lift en masse out of the earth and twinkle happily as they drifted heavenward, higher and higher, until ultimately becoming confused with stars. I fell in love with these insects because they were sparkling pieces of heaven, sweetly lighting up the darkening atmosphere before passing on. The fireflies were to me a visible/physical representation of the pure light of the Kingdom of God: unable to be contained in heaven, bursting through to where we are, puncturing the dark air with beams of His light, giving the impression that we are dancing in the in between, higher than the earth, not yet in the consuming presence of God but hopeful and overjoyed all the same because of this small picture, this poor reflection, of what is to come.

In the interim between here and there, we are (only by the infinite grace of God) the light bearers, shining like stars in the universe as we hold out the word of life… We serve as signposts, as ambassadors of Jesus, heralding the coming of a King who is coming, yes, but is also here NOW… and He asks nothing more of us than to show the same loving kindness to others that He first showered down on us. Love is the most excellent way, says Paul. Love never fails.