The lightning bug prayer

One of the childhood memories I treasure the most is the summer evening I found an injured lightning bug. Its wings were bent and useless. 

Heartbroken by this poor creature’s dilemma, I carried it to where Mom was working in the flowerbed behind the garage. I cried as I showed her the bent bug. 

Instead of some glib remark about it being “just a bug,” she stopped her work and examined the lightning bug with me. She has always had a tender heart for the suffering, and she probably glimpsed herself in her daughter’s tears.

There, still kneeling beside the flowerbed, Mom prayed with me for that poor little lightning bug. She prayed because she knew God cared. That’s why I still remember.

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