Friday, June 27, 2014

Who Gave Us the Flies

I sat down in the old handmade rocking chair. The damp wood felt cool on my back and I looked out across the green carpet of the prairie and took in the morning air. A fly caught my eye, and I couldn't help but smile. I closed my eyes and gave thanks to The One, who gave us the flies.

Days ago, as Revival was just getting kicked off, our preacher had stood and made note of a fly in the church. It had found rest upon The Altar and he noted there must be something sweet to eat there, because as soon as the table is spread, the flies are usually the first to eat.

We've heard a lot of intense, bold, strong preaching this week, and it hasn't all come from the appointed pastor invited to lead our Revival. We have been Blessed with voices of many this week. Shouts from the crowd, Amens from Believers, arms lifted from the Blessed and music from the gifted.

I looked up at the tree tops as the sun brushed over them, spilling onto the dark meadow below. The light added diamonds to the soaked green-land and the value of that field just increased. My eyes watered from the thought of the earlier message about our worth to The Lord...and it is all because of The Son, who paid the ultimate just for us...well beyond what we feel our value may be.

The wings of the insect lifted it in the air and something caught my eye on a tree just out of reach. I stopped rocking the old chair and when the creaking ceased, I could hear a symphony of birds. For just one song, they were all in unison, some belted high and others low, but the land was filled with music. I stared at the tree and when the breeze passed through the leaves just right, I could see it. There was an intricate yet delicate spider's web. It moved without effort of its own but I knew it had a purpose. It was a trap for the fly.

I remembered the church fly. I wondered if it had heard all the shouting, had seen the lights of the old church house, or had made it there by mistake. Either way, it was there, inside those four walls. I had looked for that fly last night from the very pew I sat upon, and wondered if it was still there. I prayed silently that everyone would bring more to the table and that it hadn't run bare because my children still needed to eat, we all were still looking for something else sweet. The fly was nowhere to be seen. Three people stood from behind me and walked over to the piano. They took common song, common verse and added The Son, diamonds fell upon the pews and the value of those words had just increased.

I looked around certain I'd see the fly. With the manna being spread, I was sure it would return. The last time I'd seen the church fly, it had taken flight from the fingertip of the six year old who sat in the floor, beside me. Her red hair pulled back and freckles atop her nose, she played with tiny dolls. The half dozen or so toys listened to her sing the hymnals as she placed them across the pew. The fly had landed on her finger and I looked down at her as she sang every word to those old gospel hymns. Just as the wings lifted the fly back into the air, I noticed her toys were all face down. They were all kneeling in prayer and The Lord knew I would want to see that. I smiled at her and then at her mama and the simple, small detail in the path of the fly, had just been a Blessing.

A lot was said in the service last night but I was still in search of the fly. I wondered if it had fallen into the traps, after all, they are everywhere out there. I knew the devil would feed on anything, anyone. Some traps are set as delicate as webs and as we walk down the Christian path, some things can blindside us, just like the preacher had said. Before we know it, we are pulling at something completely unseen by the eye rather felt on the flesh, and we just want it off.

I watched people kneel again at the front of the church and on the other side of a yellow flower which sat atop the altar, I heard a voice. I lifted my head and found myself captivated by a man on bended knees. His eyes were closed tight, sweat graced his brow from a Spirited night of preaching and the more he spoke, the stronger his voice got. He was praying for me...he was praying for my little country church. Tears formed in my eyes as the touching words were gathered by the same God that had just taken up mine. Of all the things he could be praying for, he was praying for us. As soon as he finished I saw it. The fly spread its wings and went straight up to that altar. I smiled and wiped my eyes as the service soon came to a close...and I gave thanks to The One, who gave me, gave us, the flies.


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