Discovering Joy in the Wild

I will never forget the first time I laughed. I forgot for just a moment, overcome with the hilarity of a shared moment among friends. I looked around wondering if anyone had noticed. Guilt flooded my soul. It had been 6 long weeks since we buried my young husband. Ripe with a baby soon to be born, I spent most of my days shrouded in a cloud of confusion and grief. There was no joy. How could I ever be happy again? But for the children, including the one yet to be born I had to at least try.

The Summer Prior to the Tragedy

My oldest daughter, a budding photographer, had been gifted a Canon Rebel T1i for her 14th birthday. Many family members pooled money together to support her new found passion. Little did we know that we were investing, not only in her technical skills, but in healing that we would all desperately need in less than a year.

In an effort to connect with my daughter, I championed her passion for photography. We often found ourselves roaming through the backyard looking for interesting scenes to capture. She was part of a 4H photography club which provided instruction and inspiration. They also offered competitions and encouraged exploring nature and wildlife through a variety of lenses.

One year later

After our great loss, though I could barely muster the emotional energy to crawl out of bed each morning, I continued to accompany this quiet young teen on her hunting expeditions. Always seeking that perfect shot, we would find ourselves roaming the neighborhood and hiding in the bushes of various parks. Picture a VERY pregnant, mama, with red rimmed eyes crawling with a slight blond haired girl quietly through tall grass and thick brush armed with only a camera and a tripod. I’m sure we were quite a sight.

Though my sole motivation was trying to maintain some normalcy for my daughter, I was entirely oblivious to the rays of hope that were being seeded in our souls. Oddly, I found myself drawn to the minute details of the insects in our backyard, and that summer, even after the birth of our precious baby girl, I would grab the camera, slip into my worn Birkenstocks and traipse outside during nap times.

Laying on my belly in the dirt, I was mesmerized by the unstoppable and highly organized lives of various insects. There is something about nature that is said to be grounding and to naturally bring peace. Astonishingly, as I found myself entering into the lives of the ants and bumble bees and our own honey bees, I began to experience a sense of a bigger existence. Realizing my own smallness and that I was only part of a much larger and grander scheme, brought me slowly back to my own reality. Though my husband and two of our children had preceded us to heaven, this did not in any way diminish the importance of my role here on earth. Life goes on. And my moping and sadness, while justified, were of no benefit to the greater good of my family or community.

Then came the magical photo that I will never forget. Creeping quietly towards the pine tree, I held my breath. We did not get many dragonflies in our backyard and this one seemed so carefree. I had been watching him for about 15 minutes flit from here to there. Zig zagging back and forth, flying high then dropping low. He seemed to have not a care in the world and I wondered what that would feel like. Watching him wistfully as he landed for a brief rest on a prickly branch I seized my opportunity. I braced my elbows tightly to my chest to steady the camera, carefully focused, and snapped. He stayed still, so I tiptoed closer and closer repeating the actions until, on the enlarged screen of the camera he seemed to startle and then, I am not joking, I swear, he grinned at me. I snapped and he quickly buzzed away.

I laughed at myself. “Dragonflies can’t grin.” But nonetheless, I was eager to pull this photo up on my computer for a closer look. I know it can't be true, but I had heard that a dragonfly in your yard is really a visitor from heaven. And... I'm sure he was smiling!

Rushing inside, I removed the memory card from my camera and inserted it into the slot on my laptop computer. Opening my photo viewer, I scrolled to the photos of the dragonfly. Sadly most of them had blurred, in spite of my attempt to steady my arms. Disappointed, I deleted the photos as I scrolled until I got to the last one. My fingers, familiar with the "delete, confirm action," I was just about to press delete when I saw that final photo. It was exactly what I thought I had seen on the camera screen. That dragonfly was staring straight at me grinning from ear to ear. I don't know if dragonfly’s have ears, regardless, he was clearly smiling at me!

I don’t care what you say about dragonflies and their ability to smile or not, this small bug, brought me such delight. It was like the very maker of the universe himself was smiling and offered me this tiny sign that there was still joy in the world. There is hope. All we have to do is open our eyes and our hearts and look for it.

That summer I found joy in the ants, in the bumble bees, in our honey bees, in the lady bugs, and the praying mantises, I found so much joy in my brand new baby, in each of my children, and yes, I found an unexplainable joy in this one grinning dragonfly.

No matter what tragedies befall you, never close your eyes or your heart to the tiny sparks of joy that are all around. You are not alone on this planet and comfort will often come in the most unexpected ways and sometimes from places that are beyond your wildest imagination.